A Very Weasley Christmas
by MandyinKC
Summary: Written for the 25 Days of Christmas Competition. Drabbles and one-shots centered around the Weasley family at Christmas.
1. Stockings: Molly

I wrote this for the 25 Days of Christmas competition on Harry Potter Fanfiction Challenges.

Author's Note: The following story was inspired by my own 8 year old son…so this is for him even if he won't read it for a while.

These are self-edited and written rather on the fly. I apologize if they are not very polished.

Finally, I'd like to thank keeptheotherone for pre-reading the following story when I wasn't sure what it was missing. She had a great new story everybody should check out called 'The Faintest, Slimmest, Wildest Chance.' Also, for the fun of it—and because 'tis the season—check out 'The Weasley Christmas Song List,' you won't be sorry!

Disclaimer: The characters and world belong to JK Rowling.

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Prompt: Stockings

Molly and family

Molly crept down the stairs in the darkened house-freezing when one step squeaked. She waited a moment, listening for movement or voices. When all remained silent, she continued on her trek, levitating a bag of goodies and gifts ahead of her. In the lounge, sprawled out before the fireplace, were her three oldest boys. Eight, six and two. The eight month old twins were upstairs in the cot that they shared.

Charlie was sprawled on his back, limbs flung in all directions, snoring softly. Percy lay between the big boys, snuggled into Bill, who was on his side with an arm around his little brother. They were so sweet when they were asleep. It was easy to forget that she'd found another chipmunk in Charlie's drawer yesterday morning or that Bill had yelled at Percy because he'd got jam on Bill's comic books or that Percy had smeared peanut butter all over the front of his jumper.

As quietly as possible, Molly stepped over the boys to the fireplace. On the mantle hung five stockings. They'd bought the three oldest boys' stockings on Diagon Alley over the years, but this year she couldn't quite scrape up the extra galleons for the twins stockings. After all the everyday expenses, then add Christmas gifts and the cost of a nice holiday meal? Well, new stockings were low on the list of priorities. So, instead, she'd stayed up late knitting stockings in red and gold. One with an 'F', the other with a 'G'.

Pushing those thoughts aside, Molly couldn't help but smile as she listened to Charlie's snuffling snores. He'd been quite keen on catching Santa Clause in the act this year. It had been all he could talk about since lunch that day, yet there he was, fast asleep. She was glad that he still believed in Father Christmas, and probably would for another few years. Billy, on the other hand, was growing up.

oOo

_Three weeks earlier…_

"All right, boys," Molly announced after breakfast on the first of December, "I have a special writing project for you this morning."

This announcement was met with groans. The hours between breakfast and lunch were spent doing lessons with the older boys. They rather liked maths and sciences. Charlie was especially interested in anything to do with animals and plants, whereas Bill was more inclined to potions. Though reading and history seemed to appeal more to Bill than Charlie. However, the boys were united in their hatred of writing assignments.

"Well," Molly sniffed, hands on her hips. She tried to suppress a smile but couldn't quite manage it. "I was going to have you write your letters to Santa, but if you don't want to..."

The table was cleared in no time and she had two attentive boys eagerly awaiting their lessons. Three, actually, as Percy had popped up between Charlie and Billy with a curious look on his freckled face.

"Who Santa?" he asked.

"Just the greatest wizard to ever live," Charlie exclaimed with round eyes and waving hands.

Percy gave Charlie a skeptical look, then turned to Billy. "That twue?"

Bill hesitated for a moment, which caught Molly's attention. She had expected a quick and enthusiastic confirmation to Percy's question.

"Um, yeah, Perce," Bill said with a wary glance in Molly's direction.

"Even better than Merwin?" Percy asked.

"Absolutely!" Charlie said, but Bill merely nodded his head.

"And Brumblebore?" Percy added.

"Way better than Dumbledore," Charlie said.

"How come?" Percy asked and he was still looking to his eldest brother for answers.

Again, there was that slight hesitation. Billy wouldn't look at Percy as he nodded his head. With a pang in her heart, Molly realized that maybe Billy was putting it all together. That, maybe, he no longer believed in Santa Clause. She had known this was coming and she wasn't sure how she felt about it. On one hand, she was concerned that Bill would let it slip to the younger boys, but Bill was her thoughtful one. He'd be mindful of his younger brothers.

Then again, what if she were wrong? What if Billy was just feeling off this morning and he really didn't know? If Molly tried to talk to him about it, would she inadvertently be revealing information he hadn't already chivvied out himself? Or confirming something Billy wasn't quite ready to admit? Sometimes Molly felt like she was failing Bill. Every first for him was a first for her, too, and sometimes she just wasn't sure what to do. It would be easier when it was Charlie's turn and routine by Percy, but with Bill it always felt like she was trying to walk across an icy pond. One wrong step and she'd slip and fall, taking him with her more than likely.

Molly sighed. Wait and see seemed a good strategy for now.

"Well," Bill said at last, "it's not like he created an important potion or new spell or anything, but he's the nicest wizard to ever live. He brings gifts to all the children in the world on Christmas Eve."

"Not all the kids," Charlie corrected, leaning on his elbows. "Just the good ones."

"So, no pwesents for Fweddie and Georgie?"

The first real smile during the whole conversation came to Billy's face, but Molly flushed red.

"Why would you say that, Percy?" Molly demanded, hands on her hips.

"You said they bad babies."

"Oh."

Molly pressed her lips together. Oh, dear, she had said that, hadn't she? She would have to be more careful about what she said in front of her middle boy. Best just to change the subject. Molly passed out parchment and quills and set the boys to their task. She smiled as she watched Percy tug on Bill's sleeve and ask his big brother to write a letter for him. Bill set his own letter aside, and pulled Percy into his lap.

oOo

"What grand thing did you do today, boys?" Arthur asked from the head of the dinner table that night.

"We wrote letters to Santa," Charlie reported with a gapped tooth grin.

"Ah, good, excellent. And what did you ask for?"

"Well," Charlie started and shot a look at Molly. "Do you s'pose Santa would put a dragon egg in my stocking this year, Mum?"

"Not at all, Charlie Weasley," Molly replied, pursing her lips. "I sent Santa a stern letter instructing him not to bring any living creatures into my home."

_Honestly, that boy. Did he think she was running a menagerie here?_

"Ah, Mum…"

Arthur interrupted by speaking to their eldest. "What about you, Billy, what do you want Santa to bring you this year?"

Billy shrugged without looking up. "You could just put a book on Africa in my stocking." Then he paused, before adding, "Or maybe Santa could bring me one of those leather kits. I could make a scrivener's bag like Uncle Fab's."

Arthur exchanged a look with Molly. So, her husband had noticed it, too. Molly had been hoping it was her imagination, but that did not seem to be the case. She felt another pang in her heart.

oOo

Come Christmas Eve, Charlie's enthusiasm for Santa Claus had only grown. At lunch that day, Molly had been subjected to a regular interrogation by her second son. He'd wanted to know all about Santa and how he went about his work. She rather wished that her eldest was as excited.

"So, does he use a Portkey to get from one place to another?" Charlie asked.

"He simply Apparates from place to place, dear," Molly replied absently, setting a plate in front of little Percy.

Charlie's forehead crinkled as he studied his sandwich. "And he visits every child in the whole world in one night?"

"Yes, that's right."

"Wizard and Muggle?"

"Yes, of course. Santa may be an important wizard, but he doesn't believe in all this pureblood nonsense."

"But that's a lot of kids," Charlie said, his forehead still crinkled. "How does he go to so many houses in one night?"

Molly stopped what she was doing for a moment to wipe her hands on her apron and smile at her second son. "Magic, dear, what else?"

"Well," Charlie announced, "I'd like to see it. Wouldn't you, Billy?"

Bill looked at his little brother a moment, then shrugged before turning away. "I suppose so."

"I wanna know," Percy piped up.

Somehow, Molly wasn't surprised by this. All of her boys were curious in their own ways. Charlie was endlessly exploring. If she had a knut for every squirrel, frog or newt he'd brought into the house, she could buy the boys new jumpers instead of knitting them. Bill, on the other hand, wanted to know how things worked: everything from Arthur's Muggle thing-a-majigs to magic. He craved knowledge. Percy, it seemed, was more like Bill. Already, he would sit down with a toy automobile and turn it this way and that trying to figure out how it was put together. The twins, since learning to crawl, only seemed to be interested in things that were in opposite directions.

"Let's stay up and wait for him!" Charlie said, bouncing in his chair.

"Now, Charlie," Molly said, "Santa only comes when you are asleep, you know that."

"We p'tend," Percy said, looking at his brother with bright eyes.

Charlie beamed at his little brother, before turning to Bill. "Or we could hide, yeah?"

"Behind the settee," Bill said with a grin. He seemed to be warming to the idea.

Molly frowned as she looked at her oldest. Last year, he would have been the one making the plans and doing the persuading. This year? Well, Molly couldn't ignore it any longer. Her first born no longer believed in Santa, he just didn't want to come right out and say it.

oOo

In the end, Molly had relented. Charlie had become very determined, so much so that he'd pestered her until she gave in. Though, it was really little Percy who had finally convinced her. He'd been Charlie's shadow, parroting all of his big brother's arguments. The toddler was so excited to be included in this grand adventure with his big brothers—a rarity—that Molly just couldn't say no.

They'd made quite a little party out of it. They'd bought blankets and pillows from their beds into the sitting room to make tents. Arthur had provided them with some Muggle thing that he called a lightflash. The boys had put out all the candles and huddled around the contraption, telling stories and drinking hot chocolate. The only downside that Molly could see was that _she_ was required to stay up past her bedtime before she could go to work filling the stockings.

In the babies' stockings she put small things: bananas because they were just beginning to take table food, stuffed dragons and new socks. For Percy, some Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans, a paperback picture book, and a Muggle toy robot with a key. Arthur had found it, and he'd thought Percy would like to see how it moved. Molly had not asked Arthur _how_ he'd come across such a thing.

No live animals for Charlie, but she'd found a nice toy Chinese Fireball to add to his collection, along with a book all about them and some sugar quills. And for Bill? Well, the leather kit had been too expensive. So, it was a second hand travel book with lovely pictures of a faraway land. Molly had made sure it was free of rips and marks and as nearly new as she could find. The one on Egypt had been well worn, and even though she knew he would like that one better, her pride had made her choose the virtually unopened copy of _A Wizard's Trip Through Luxemburg_.

Now, it seemed foolish. She should have got the Egyptian one. Bill wouldn't have cared that the spine was broken or the pages dog-eared. He would have loved the pictures of the pyramids and the endless desert. Christmas had never seemed like such a stretch as it did this year.

Molly wiped a tear away as she stuffed a small Auror figure and some chocolate frogs into her oldest boy's stocking. She reminded herself that the important thing was that they were all together this holiday, and that was so much more than most could say. They had each other and who needed toys in shiny wrappers? They had family. They had love.

She turned, ready to tiptoe back up the stairs, but she found herself looking into the eyes of her oldest. Again, she froze, truly caught out this time. With a sad sigh, she realized that Bill's illusion was truly over now. Here she was-filling his stocking-proof that there was no Santa. Her baby was growing up, and he was leaving childish things behind.

"Mum?"

"Billy," she whispered, crouching down beside him. "Come to the kitchen with me, dear."

Bill sat up, putting a hand on Percy's shoulder when the little boy stirred. Molly smiled at how thoughtful he was. He was growing up so fast, she knew. The world was a scary place around him, that's what truly made this Christmas so difficult.

Once in the kitchen, Molly lit the lamp over the table.

"Sit, dear," she whispered. "Have a biscuit and milk with me."

Molly poured two mugs of milk and warmed them with her wand. Then she brought over the plate of biscuits that the boys had left out for Santa. Bill sleepily dipped his in his milk, munching on it in silence. Molly took the minute to watch her eldest boy, reflecting on how grown up he looked.

He was tall for his age and slim—maybe even skinny. He hated to have his hair cut, but she'd wrestled him into the chair for just that task two days ago so his red hair was nice and neat. Almost all of his adult teeth were in now and when he flashed her that handsome smile—that was one part her brothers and two parts Arthur-she could imagine what the girls would think of him in a few years.

Yes, he was so grown up.

"Billy," Molly said and waited for him to look at her, "tell me what you know about Santa."

Bill's eyes dipped down and he broke off a piece of his biscuit. "I don't know," he muttered.

"Santa lives as long as you believe in him," she said, leaning in close. "And it's okay if you want to believe in him still."

"Yeah?"

"Of course. Just…remember to be careful about what you say in front of your brothers because they believe in Santa."

"I always try."

Molly stroked his hair. "I know you do."

Bill yawned great big and stood. "Happy Christmas, Mum." He kissed her cheek. "And thanks."

Molly watched as he wandered into the sitting room to join his brothers. Bill might be growing up, but he was still her little boy. Her clever, thoughtful, loving little boy. Maybe she'd put together a few extra knuts and get him that book on Egypt, after all.


	2. Candy Canes: Ginny

Author's Note: This one is dedicated to keeptheotherone, who graciously lent me the idea for the magical version of My Little Ponies. If you haven't checked out her work yet, just go. Do it. Seriously.

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Prompt: Candy Canes

Ginny and Percy, and more

Five-year-old Ginerva Weasley would kick anyone who called her _Ginerva_ (except for Mum, of course). The little girl much preferred _Ginny_, although it seemed that she was never called by that name. Her many, many brothers seemed to have a million names for her that were not _Ginny_. Bug, Shorty, Menace, Brat, Pain-In-the-Arse. She rather liked that last one. The twins always got their mouths washed out with soap when they used that one.

Of course, there was one brother who called her by the name she preferred. Sometimes he even called her _Princess Ginny, Mummy's Little Darling._ She liked that (even though it was a mouthful). Strangely, though, it always sounded mean when he said. Well, boys were strange-she was born knowing that. After all, she had six big brothers, she knew everything there was to know about boys.

And that afternoon—Christmas afternoon, to be precise—Ginny had her sights set on that one brother who was nicest to her. Percy. He was ten, the oldest one at home since Bill and Charlie were off to Hogwarts. The twins were after Percy, but they were too busy making noise and mess to be bothered with their little sister. Then there was Ron, who was only a year older than Ginny, but he was too busy trying to make the twins like him to play with her. But Percy would almost always put down his book or whatever he was doing to give his little sister a bit of his time.

Ginny was counting on that now.

Well, that, and she was going to bribe him with candy.

"Percy," Ginny called, crawling into her big brother's lap. He was in the sitting room reading the new book he'd gotten from Santa.

Percy pushed his glasses up and looked at her. "What do you want, Ginny?"

"I've got two candy canes," she whispered, leaning in close. "I thought you might want one—if you played My Little Menagerie with me."

He pursed his lips and looked around. "I-I really want to start this new book I got for Christmas."

"Please, Percy," Ginny said. She opened her eyes real big and stuck out her bottom lip.

"I'm not Bill, Ginny, that one's not going to work on me."

Ginny scowled. "Just…please! I got them today and I wanted them so bad and nobody will play with me and I've really…"

"Okay!" Percy closed his book and set it aside. "Fine."

"Yay!" Ginny threw her arms around Percy's neck. "Thank you, thank you, thank you!"

"But," Percy insisted, pushing Ginny away, "you have to swear to never, ever, ever, tell anyone that I played My Little Menagerie with you. Promise?"

"Promise!"

Hopping off Percy's lap, Ginny grabbed his hand and hauled him to the stairs. He was walking as slowly as possible, acting all heavy so he would be hard to drag. Sometimes Percy was a git like that, but he was going to play with her so Ginny supposed she could forgive him. Once they were in her room, with the door closed, Ginny brought out her new toys.

"Uh, uh, payment first," Percy said, extending his hand.

Ginny went to her dresser and rummaged around her top drawer until she found the red and white candy canes the Lovegood girl gave her last week. She passed it over, and Percy pulled back the wrapper, then stuck one end into his mouth. He plopped down on her floor, sitting cross legged.

"Do you want to be the hippogriffs or the unicorns?" Ginny asked.

She pulled the toys over to her brother. She had gotten five: three unicorns and two hippogriffs. The unicorns were pink, purple and yellow and when you tapped their horns against something it made a little spark. The manes were a bit frazzled, but Ginny was happy to brush them. The hippogriffs, on the other hand, were blue and red. Their little wings actually worked and they would fly figure eights around her head. Both were missing a tale, but Ginny didn't care.

"The hippogriffs, I reckon," Percy said, taking the two toys. "So, what do we do now?"

This was a good question. Ginny had played with Luna's My Little Menagerie toys and mostly she liked to make them look like Crumple Horned Something-or-Anothers. Ginny had a baby doll, but that was the extent of her girl toys. Mostly she played with her brothers' old dragons and Auror figurines.

"I think they should fight," Ginny said, ramming her pink unicorn into the blue hippogriff.

Percy's brow furrowed. "I think that unicorns are peaceful creatures."

"Then why do they have horns if they don't fight?"

"For defense, of course."

"Well, that's dumb. I know!" Ginny hopped up to fetch the Auror figurines. When she returned, she placed them astride the unicorns and began shooting spells at the wild hippogriffs.

For the next hour, they played. Percy was quiet, but when Ginny got him alone, he was a lot of fun. He had a good imagination, probably from reading all those books. He created forts for the Aurors and unicorns to defend against the hippogriffs. He even brought out the dragons to gang up on the Aurors.

Just as Ginny's toys were finally winning the battle, her bedroom door flew open with a bang.

"Hey, Gin-a-bug!" hollered Fred. He skidded to a stop and looked around. A slow, gleeful smile crossing his face. "Whatcha doin' there, Perce?"

Percy had the red hippogriff in one hand and the purple unicorn in the other. He seemed to be frozen in place, his smile gone and his eyes panicked.

George came in behind Fred. "Are you playing with _girl_ toys, Percy?"

"Or is it Polly?"

"Oi, Gred, we have two ickle sisters."

Percy was very red and his mouth was in that hard line that told Ginny he was upset.

"Leave him alone!" Ginny yelled. She hopped to her feet and propped her fists on her hips, just like Mum.

"You even have little girls doin' your fightin' there, Polly?" Fred said, jabbing Percy in the shoulder.

"Shut it, Fred," Percy growled.

"Or what?"

"He'll do our hair," George laughed.

"Or I'll tell Mum," Ginny said. "At least Percy is nice to me. You two are always mean, horrible boys!"

"Well, you girls do have to stick together," Fred replied, looking down at Ginny.

Percy threw down the toys and stood up. He was much taller than the twins, but weedy, whereas the twins were stocky. Percy glowered at them for a moment, before trying to push past. The twins, on the other hand, just folded their arms across their chests and planted themselves in the doorway.

"Let me pass," Percy demanded.

"What's the password," George replied.

"I'll give you a clue," Fred said with a smirk. "It's 'Polly wears pink knickers.'"

"Shut it, Fred," Ginny yelled, and she pushed Fred as hard as she could.

"Stop, Ginny," Percy said in a low voice.

"You shouldn't make fun of him," Ginny insisted.

"Maybe we'll stop," said George.

"If he makes us," added Fred.

Ginny saw anger flare on Percy's red face. Then he pushed Fred, but instead of moving out of the way, Fred pushed back. Percy fell on the floor, long limbs sprawled every which way. Ginny rushed over to Percy.

"I'm telling!" She turned to Percy, fussing over him. "Are you alright?"

"Just leave me alone," Percy said. He was still very red and his eyes were shiny.

"I'll help you up." Ginny took Percy's hand.

Percy shook his hand free and stood without help. "I said, leave me alone," he shouted. "I never wanted to play your stupid game anyway. Just…don't bother me anymore. Big baby."

Ginny felt gut punched. She thought they were having fun. She knew he would never say so, but she thought he liked their time together. Anger flared, then tears stung her eyes. She hated crying.

"I'm not a big baby, you stupid git!"

"Hey, what's going on here?"

Charlie appeared in the door. The twins immediately parted, allowing Charlie to come inside, innocent smiles on their faces. Percy's face was like a mask, frowning and unmoving. Charlie took in all of his siblings, including the crying Ginny, and frowned.

"Which of you gits made Gin-a-bug cry?" Charlie demanded, his face like thunder.

The twins each pointed a finger at Percy and chorused, "He did!"

Percy went so red than Ginny thought his head might catch on fire. Served him right.

Then all hell broke loose. Charlie hit Percy. Percy was on the ground again. Ginny screamed, while the twins laughed. Ginny rushed to Percy. His face was white now and tears were on his cheeks. When she tried to help him up, he pushed her away. Slowly, Percy stood.

Then he was gone. Stupid git.

oOo

"Heard there was a bit of excitement earlier."

Ginny looked up at her eldest brother, Bill. He was impossibly tall. When he'd come home from Hogwarts, his hair had been shaggy, but Mum had already cut it short. Bill was always nice to her, even nicer than Percy. Bill never called her a baby.

"Charlie hit Percy," she reported.

Bill came into the room and sat on the floor, back against her bed. He picked up the blue hippogriff and set it to flying. But instead of doing the little figure eight, Bill used his wand to levitate it across the room. It zoomed up to the ceiling, across the window, over the bookcase and right into Ginny's hands. She was giggling. Bill was her very favorite brother.

"I heard," Bill said. "I heard Percy was mean to you."

Ginny stopped laughing and crossed her arms. "He called me a baby."

"Hm, that _is_ a serious offense."

Ginny crawled off her bed and sat on the floor next to Bill. "Percy is never mean to me and he doesn't call me names. I don't know why he was mean to me. I was just trying to help."

"You're right, Percy isn't mean to you. Why did he need your help?"

Ginny made a face, she was still mad at the stupid twins. "Fred and George made fun of him and they pushed him down. I was just trying to stand up for him."

"Ah," Bill said. He stretched his long legs in front of him, resting his clasped hands in his lap. "Not that they need a reason, but why were the twins making fun of Percy this time?"

"He was playing My Little Menagerie with me."

Bill covered his mouth and cleared his throat. "I see."

They were quiet for a long time. Bill was looking around the room. Percy's fort was still standing where they left it and the toys were arranged in their battle formations.

"Did Perce do all that?" Bill asked, pointing to the fort.

"Yeah, Percy has a good imagination. He always comes up with the best games."

"He was like that when he was your age, too." Bill fingered his short hair and sighed. "Do you suppose the twins hurt Percy's feelings and that is the reason he yelled at you?"

Ginny crossed her arms mutinously. She did not want to feel sorry for Percy the prat. "That's not a good reason to yell at me."

"No, it's not."

"Why are the twins so mean to Percy?"

"Well," Bill started. "Sometimes it's because Percy is bossy. And other times it's because they don't understand him."

Ginny huffed and crossed her arms. "I think it's because they're mean."

"Well, sometimes _you_ are right."

"More like all the time."

Bill chuckled. "I bet Percy feels awful for yelling at you."

Ginny peered up at her eldest brother. She was still kind of mad at Percy, but…It wasn't fair that Charlie had hit him. And it really wasn't fair that the twins made fun of him. And she really wished he'd come finish their game.

"Should we go find him?" Bill suggested.

"Where is he?"

"The orchard, I think."

Ginny looked out the window worriedly. "But it's cold out there."

"Perhaps we should get a mug of hot chocolate for him, then."

oOo

Bill had helped Ginny bundle up, then poured three mugs of hot chocolate that he levitated all the way to the orchard. Bill was always doing magic when no one was looking. Mum, and especially Dad, didn't care exactly, but he'd get a scold if anyone saw.

"Where do you think he is?" Ginny asked.

There were thousands—maybe millions—of trees, Percy could be anywhere.

"Oh, I have a sneaking suspicion I know where he is," Bill replied.

Brother and sister picked their way through the orchard. The sun was already weak, as the afternoon was growing late. Snow covered the ground, though it wasn't as deep under the trees. Ginny didn't like how the trees lost their leaves in the winter, but there was something magical about the way the snow lay on their branches.

Finally, Bill stopped in front of a tree that must have been three hundred miles from the house. On the other side, sitting in the snow, back against the trunk, was Percy. He looked up at them when he heard them approach, but then away again. Ginny noticed that he had a bruise on his cheek and his glasses seemed a bit smashed.

"So, Percy," Bill said. "Ginny tells me that you were making sure she had a nice Christmas."

"That's not what I said," Ginny protested, but Bill waved her off.

"But it's true, isn't it? You were having a lot of fun and it was because of Percy."

Ginny crossed her arms and scowled. "Yeah, but he called me a baby, too."

Percy looked at Ginny. "I'm sorry, Ginny," he said. "I shouldn't have done that."

"It wasn't fair," she insisted.

"No, it wasn't. I really am sorry."

"Well, okay."

Bill levitated a mug to each of his siblings, then took a sip from his own. He kicked some snow out of the way, then sat next to Percy on the ground. Percy looked at him, then took several long sips of the hot chocolate.

"It's nice, Percy, what you do for Ginny," Bill said, as if the little girl wasn't standing there. "You're a good big brother."

"She doesn't have anybody to play with," Percy mumbled.

"And you know how that feels?"

Percy glanced at Bill, but didn't say anything.

Bill set his mug down and took Percy by the chin, forcing him to face Bill. Their eldest brother took out his wand, tapped Percy's glasses and murmured a spell. Instantly, they were repaired. Then Bill placed the tip of his wand against Percy's cheek, said another spell and the bruise faded away.

"Thanks, Bill."

"I'll take care of the twins and Charlie, too." Bill pursed his lips. "I won't stick up for the twins, but I hope you can forgive Charlie."

Percy began to protest, but Bill held up his hand.

"Charlie thinks with his fists first, you know that. When he finds out the real story, he'll feel awful. Probably as bad as you feel for calling Ginny a baby."

Percy looked at his hot chocolate.

"If you play it just right," Bill said with a grin, "you can probably get Charlie to share his chocolate frog stash with you."

"Me too?" Ginny piped up. She loved chocolate frogs.

Bill pulled Ginny into his lap. "Depends."

"On what?"

"Do you forgive Percy for being a prat?"

Ginny looked at Percy's hopeful face. "Yeah, I guess."

"I really am sorry, you know," Percy said. "Maybe we could finish the game?"

"Okay, and c'mon! It's freezing out here."

Ginny scrambled up and scurried in the direction of the Burrow. Both of her big brothers were following her. Her most favorite one and the one who was the nicest. Percy was going to finish their game and maybe she'd get extra chocolate frogs, this was a good Christmas.


	3. Snowball Fight: Fred

Disclaimer: The world and characters within it belong to JK Rowling.

* * *

Prompt: Snowball Fight

Fred, George and Percy

Christmas Day, 1991

Bloody Percy managed to organize Ron and Harry into something of a team. It was the three of them against Fred and George, not that it mattered. He and George could more than handle Percy the Prat and a couple of firsties. And George was showing them how, whipping up a whole battalion of snowballs with his wand and launching them across the yard and over the fort that Percy had magically constructed.

Fred heard the yells of the other three boys and smirked.

He and George were an unstoppable duo.

Then he had to think quick when twice as many snowballs came crashing down on him and his twin. That was the Prat's doing. Ron and Harry—not the handiest wizards to pass through Hogwarts—were launching snowballs one at a time by hand. Percy, the smirking bastard, was marshalling all of his magical skill, that much was obvious. The git probably thought he'd get back at Fred and George for….oh, about a million insults and pranks, all well-deserved, by the way.

But Fred, diabolical genius that he was, saw a flaw in Percy's strategy. The fort was constructed under an overhang heavy with ice sickles and snow. The three ponces were standing right under it, completely oblivious to their vulnerability. Never let it be said that Fred Weasley let an opportunity pass him by.

With a swish of his wand and a whispered spell, the sheet of snow slid off the overhang onto his three opponents. Fred laughed as he heard the yelling and swearing, as well as the shattering of ice sickles against cobblestone. The fort's walls half collapsed and there were flailing limbs all over the place. Ah, chaos: mischief's ne'er do well twin.

"Bloody hell, Fred," swore George, giving his twin a shove. "That was uncalled for."

"Hey, we won, didn't we?"

But George didn't respond. He raced, slipping and sliding, across the courtyard to their brothers and Harry. Actually, Harry was nowhere to be seen. Percy was groping around on the ground for his glasses, covered head to toe in snow. Ron was sprawled across the ground. There was a tale tell smear of bright red across the pristine white.

Shit.

Shit, that wasn't…Wasn't anything Madame Pomfrey couldn't take care of. She'd fixed Fred up with worse injuries from the Quidditch pitch. Fred turned on his heel and walked back to the castle. It was getting cold out here anyways.

oOo

"In case you were wondering," George yelled as he stomped into their dorm room, "our brothers and Harry are all alive and well. Madame Pomfrey was able to fix Ron's cracked skull."

Fred looked up from the sketch he was making for an idea he'd had for an improved fake wand. He was quite comfortable and warm in his bed, thank you very much. Hot chocolate warmed him to his toes and the wood burning stove was crackling merrily. If it weren't for the stench of sweaty socks, life would be perfect.

"Let me guess," Fred said, straight faced, "she said that she couldn't be sure if there was any brain damage due to the fact that he was a bit addled to begin with, right?"

George's eyes narrowed. Great. Looked like good ol' Forge was about to get all high and mighty about being out of bounds. It was always the same: think first, act second, consider other people's feelings, think about…blah, blah, blah.

The uglier twin was launching into the third minute of his tirade, when Fred decided to interrupt.

"You know, you sound like Percy the Prat when you go on like that, Georgie boy. You might want to tone it down a bit before people start thinking you are a pompous git."

George pounced on Fred. The two grappled a bit, toppling out of Fred's bed with a thud. They rolled around on the floor. Fred kneed George in the side. George punched Fred in the face. They rolled near the stove and nearly scorched their arses off and that was when George hopped up.

"Rather sound like Percy," he spat, "than be an effing dick like you, you great arse."

George spun around and stomped out the door. Fred lay his head against the hard wood floor. Well, at least that was over with. Couldn't say he wasn't expecting it, George being the holier-than-thou type and all.

oOo

"You know, just because you're hurting doesn't give you the right to take it out on everybody else."

_Well, this day just kept getting better._

"What do you want, Polly?"

Fred was sprawled across his bed again, tossing a ball into the air over and over. Suddenly the ball was snatched out of the air. Fred looked up to see Percy standing over him. Percy had that impassive look on his face that Fred hated. It meant that Percy was working very hard at _not_ letting Fred get under his skin.

"May I sit?" Percy asked, motioning to the bed and quite obviously ignoring the 'Polly' comment.

"And if I say no?"

Percy shrugged. He walked around to the end of bed and leaned against one of the posts. Fred swung his legs around and sat up, all the while eyeing his older brother warily. It used to take nothing at all to wind good ol' Perce up, but these days Percy tried very hard to ignore Fred and George's jibes. Not that Percy was often successful. They knew exactly how to push Percy's buttons until he finally got angry or frustrated or (and admittedly, this hadn't happened for a long time) cry like a girl.

"Why are you here anyway?" Fred demanded, on the attack. "I know Wood invited you to go home with him for Christmas."

Percy's hands were clasped in front of him rather primly. "Oliver's my best mate, but he's not my brother. I wanted to be with my brothers on Christmas."

"Why? You don't even like us."

"That's not true."

"Oh? Then you nag George and me about our studies just for fun, then?"

"I _encourage_ you and George to do your best because I know what you are capable of and want to see you live up to your potential." Percy paused and pursed his lips. "But I am not here to discuss that at the moment."

"Then why are you here?"

"I am here," Percy said slowly, "because one of my little brothers is hurting and I want to help him."

Bristling, Fred became very interested in his red coverlet. Stupid Percy didn't know what he was talking about. Nothing hurt Fred. He could take his lumps and keep going. He didn't need a heart to heart with Polly, his least favorite brother…er, sister. Whatever. He just wished Percy would go the hell away.

"What do you know?" Fred spat. Eyes narrowed, he glared at Percy out of the corner of his eye. "Your head's too far up your arse to know anything about me, or about George."

"I know Christmas is your favorite holiday."

Fred didn't say anything to that. So, Percy knew that Christmas was his favorite holiday. Big deal! He was thirteen, Christmas was supposed to be his favorite holiday.

Percy continued, "And I know it's not because you expect a bunch of shiny packages under the tree because…well, that's never happened for as long as I can remember."

"Shut it, Percy, you're embarrassing yourself with all this maudlin shite."

"_Maudlin? _Nice use of a big vocabulary word, by the way."

Fred looked up with a scathing retort on his lips, only to find Percy smirking at him.

"Was that a-a _joke_?" Fred demanded and Percy laughed a little. "Pathetic."

"Listen, I wish we were all at home at the Burrow, too, but Charlie's been really homesick, and I reckon Mum thought he needed her more than we did. _We _have each other, after all, or we're supposed to."

"She didn't run off to Egypt the first year Bill was away from home," Fred muttered, crossing his arms.

"No, well, Bill's not likely to admit to a weakness like being homesick, is he?" Percy reasoned. "Besides, Bill's used to doing things on his own. He always has to blaze the path for the rest of us. Charlie is on his own for the first time."

Something akin to guilt-not an emotion that Fred was willing to admit to-stabbed at him. He never really considered that Charlie might be homesick while he was off on his grand adventure. Fred and George had only sent Charlie two letters since he had left for Romania in late July. One in October, letting him know what a huge pain in arse Oliver Wood was as the new Quidditch Captain (and rub it in that an ickle first year was going to outdo the great Charlie Weasley) and one a couple of weeks ago on Charlie's birthday. Just the thought of that one made Fred grin with pride. It was a burping card.

Still, if the dragons weren't all they were cracked up to be, then Charlie could just come home. Then they could all be together at Christmas, the way it was supposed to be.

"Ron and Harry want to play Exploding Snap," Percy said. "Actually, I don't think Harry knows how, so we're going to teach him. We would like it if you joined us."

Percy started to walk out.

"Hey," Fred called, startling himself. "Why didn't Harry go home for Christmas?"

"He was all alone on the Platform back in September, remember?" Percy replied. "Perhaps he can't return home."

With that, Percy left, closing the door softly behind him. One part of Fred's mind wondered how Percy the Prat could be a Weasley if he couldn't even properly slam a door. The other part considered that maybe-just maybe-he didn't have it so bad, after all.

oOo

George was the first to notice Fred come down the stairs, of course. A look passed between the two of them and that was it. All was forgiven. George scooted over, making room for Fred in the circle around the Exploding Snap deck. Percy gave him the merest glance, but Ron passed over a bit of Mum's fudge.

"So, Harry," Fred said, "I hear you've never played Exploding Snap before. Let me show you how it's done."

"Oi!" George cried. "I've taught him everything I know, brother mine."

"Which is absolutely nothing," Fred quipped with a grin. "Stick with me, kid, and these gits will owe us a year's supply of Chocolate Frogs."

"We are not betting on the game," Percy said with a pointed look.

George nudged Fred in the side. "Happy Christmas, Gred."

"Happy Christmas, Forge."


	4. Ugly Christmas Sweaters: Fleur

Ugly Christmas Sweater

Fleur and George

There was never somewhere to be private in this house. There was simply a ginger in every room…or Harry and Hermione. And really, all she wanted was somewhere to be alone. That so much to ask this Christmas morning, _non_? Her second ever away from home.

Fleur Delacour stopped in front of a closed door. This was the room of the other brother. The one nobody would talk about because he had turned his back on the family. Still, Fleur could tell that Mrs. Weasley had hoped he would come home for Christmas, but as far as Fleur knew, the boy had not even sent a card. Well, not a boy really. He was a year older than Fleur herself.

With a look around, Fleur opened the door to the bedroom and slipped inside. Quietly, she closed the door and leaned against. The tears came though she wished they would not. Her Veela magic would keep the others from seeing the evidence of her weakness, but Bill would know. He always saw her, even when she did not want him to.

Fleur shuffled into the little room, arms folded around herself. It was colder in this room than the rest of the house. She supposed that they did not bother to heat it, since it was unoccupied. Still, it was dust free. Mrs. Weasley must take care to clean it and keep it ready for her son's return. What did Bill call his second younger brother? The prodigal son. Then he would shake his head and mutter, "Who would have thought it?"

Careful not to disturb anything, Fleur sat on the edge of the bed. The tears came a little harder, so she pulled the handkerchief from the pocket of her robes. It was new. _Maman_ had sent her a new set-hand embroidered with birds and flowers on fine linen-for Christmas. Fleur dabbed at her eyes, but that did not help. She burst into full sobs and laid on the bed with her knees tucked up to her chin.

At home, this very minute, her family was probably sipping chocolate and eating simple foods. They would have already celebrated _reveillon_, the midnight feast. There would have been a grand party with Fleur's aunts and uncles and cousins-Veela and wizard. They would have served oysters, cheese, _foie_ _gras,_ and those were just _le_ _aperitif. _But Fleur enjoyed the quiet Christmas afternoons with just her parents and sister best of all. They would exchange simple gifts, Fleur would play dolls with Gabrielle—though mostly Fleur would brush the doll's hair while her sister prattled on about all the things Fleur had missed while at school. Papa would sneak outside to smoke his pipe while _Maman_ baked cookies. Then, they would go ice skating. Fleur loved to skate and she would only come in when her cheeks were chapped and her hands ached. Then _Maman_ would have the cookies and more chocolate waiting for them.

"Oh, hey, sorry, didn't know anyone was in here."

It was one of the twins. Fleur wasn't quite sure which, she did not know the trick to tell them apart.

Fleur sat up, abashed. "_Non_, it is I who is sorry. I-I should not be here."

The boy shrugged. Well, no more a boy, he was only a year younger than herself.

"Why not," he said. "No one else is using this room."

"I zink your mozzer would be cross if she knew I was in here."

He grinned broadly. "Well, Fleur, I hate to tell you, but I think Mum is cross no matter where you're at."

Fleur tried to smile, but burst into a fresh wave of tears. It was true. Mrs. Weasley did not like her, Fleur, at all. Fleur was not going to let that keep her from marrying Bill—oh, how she loved him. But how was she to live these next fifty years with a woman who hated her?

"Hey, I'm sorry." The twin sat on the bed next to her and patted her back clumsily. "I didn't mean to make you cry."

Fleur wiped her eyes, then blew her nose into the handkerchief.

The twin snorted, then covered his smile when she glared at him.

"Sorry. That was just not…ladylike."

"Ladies have to blow zeir nozes, too."

"Even Veelas?"

Fleur gave him a look meant to make him feel lowly, but he just laughed. And to her surprise, Fleur laughed, too. She had perfected that look at Beauxbatons where the boys tried to take improper liberties with her simply because she was beautiful. The look, and its necessity, always made her feel lonely.

"Which one are you?" she asked, hoping that did not sound rude.

He showed her the front of his sweater, where a giant 'G' was knitted.

Fleur offered a weak smile. "_Joyeux Noel, _George."

"Is that some fancy way of saying 'Merry Christmas'?"

For a second, Fleur thought she had offended him, but then she saw his grin.

"It is French," she said primly, but then smiled herself.

"Joi-oo No-ella," he mimicked. "I don't know. I think Happy Christmas is a lot simpler to say."

"Zen, happy Christmas to you."

He looked at her with a serious expression, then patted her back again. "Happy Christmas to you, too." He motioned around the room. "Why are you in here crying?"

Fleur drew her knees up to her chest and rested her chin on them. "I am homesick. Is that how you say it?"

George nodded. "That's good. I thought maybe you were sad because Mum didn't make you a jumper."

Fleur sniffed. "She forgot."

George gave her a look that said they both knew that was a lie.

"Who wants an ugly Christmas sweater anyway," he said and held out his arms. The jumper was a bit long in the sleeves. "She never gets it right. Ron's will be too short and his gangly wrists will hang out a mile. Not to mention the colors. Who makes a maroon sweater for a ginger, I ask you?"

Fleur laughed.

"And can you imagine what yours would look like?" George asked in mock horror. "Probably that weird blue gray color of your school uniform. And, no offense, but that was not your best color."

Fleur laughed again. "No man has ever told me zat before."

"Well, you know, I'm special like that."

"I will never wear zat color again."

"Ah, well, my work here is done."

"Why do you come up to zis room?" Fleur asked. "Do you miss your brozzer?"

"Percy the Prat?" George gasped, his face stricken. "Take that back! Never…Never!"

Fleur patted his wrist. She was not sure if he was really disgusted by the suggestion, or if he was trying to mask his feelings. She knew that Bill saw Percy sometimes and she knew that he missed him. But she thought it was easier for Bill to admit, being older and always feeling responsible for his siblings.

George shrugged. "I've got a stash of stink pellets in here and I wanted to make sure that Mum hasn't found them and destroyed them."

"Do not let me keep you from searching."

The door opened again and this time it was Bill. Fleur knew that he saw the tears, but he also saw the easy way she and his brother were sitting together. Immediately, George jumped up.

"Relax, Georgie," Bill said, and clapped George on the back. "I'm not interested in whatever prank you are about to play."

"No pranks," George protested, holding his hands up. "Although, wait an hour or so…"

Bill rolled his eyes, then turned to Fleur. "I'd wondered where you'd gotten to. I have a surprise for you."

"But we have already exchanged gifts," Fleur said, brow furrowed. "I do not have anything else for you."

"You are here at the Burrow today, when I know you would rather be at home."

Fleur placed her hands in his and let Bill pull her up. He had that grin that said he was quite pleased with himself. Sometimes that grin meant that she would be quite pleased with him, too, but sometimes it meant that she would want to hit him over the head with something heavy. She gave him a wary glance before turning to George.

"_Merci_," she said and kissed his cheek.

George turned bright red. "Oi!" He shot a furtive glance at Bill. "You're going to get me hexed here."

"_Joyeux Noel_, George."

Bill patted his little brother on the back again, a significant look passing between them.

Hand in hand, Bill and Fleur went down the stairs. He helped her into her cloak, then bundled up himself.

"Where are you two off to?" Molly asked, coming into the kitchen. She narrowed her eyes and propped her fists on her hips. "You're not leaving already, are you, Bill?"

"Not at all, Mum," Bill replied, looping a scarf around his neck. "I wanted to show Fleur something."

Molly shot a scathing look in Fleur's direction before pinning Bill with a glare. "_Really_, William."

"_Really_, Mother," he replied. His expression was impassive, but Fleur could see the way his jaw clenched. "We'll be back in a little while."

He grabbed a bag off the hook. Fleur could not remember him having it that morning when they set off for the Burrow. He also grabbed a curious red container of some sort. With a wave to his mother, he ushered Fleur out of the house. They walked in silence until they were outside the gate.

"Did she think that we were going to…"

Bill looked at Fleur and smiled. "Don't worry about what she thought, love."

"Easy for you to say."

"Come on," he said with a teasing smile, "less talking, more walking."

The snow covered the path, but Bill did not seem to need it as he led her through the orchard. The day was cold, the sun weak overhead, but Bill held Fleur close to his side and cast a warming charm around them. She was as cozy as if they were under the blankets on her settee at her flat.

"What is in zee container?" she asked.

Bill held up the red thing and gave it a shake. "This? It's a Muggle Thermos. It keeps hot things hot and cold things cold. Dad's latest obsession."

"Would a simple charm not be easier?"

"But less adventurous."

Fleur laughed. "You are very silly. I zink you will be as eccentric as your papa someday."

He gave her a look and frowned. "Will you mind so much."

"_Non_, not at all."

Finally, they came to a clearing. In the paddock before them was a glistening, icy pound. Fleur caught her breath, tears coming to her eyes. She looked up at the clear blue sky and out to the distance where evergreens crowded the landscape. It was perfect. Almost like home.

"_Mon_ Bill," she breathed. She covered her trembling lips with her mittened hand, staring wide eyed up at her fiancé. "But I do not have my ice skates."

He pulled the sack off his shoulder. "Here. I had Audrey dig them out of your closet."

Fleur threw her arms around Bill, peppering his face with kisses. "_Merci, merci! Je t'aime. Merci!"_

"I love you, too." Bill cupped her head in one big hand and kissed her for long moments. "I know you miss being home for Christmas. I hope this makes you miss it a little less."

She smiled. "Zis is zee most wonderful gift you could give me. Zank you."

Fleur put on her ice skates. Then she flew across the frozen pond, arms open wide, laughing at the sky. When she grew cold, Bill poured her a cup of chocolate from the Thermos. It was not the perfect Christmas, but Fleur had hope that maybe she could build happy new memories in this faraway country with this wonderful man who would be her husband someday soon.

* * *

Author's Note: If you like Fleur and the Weasleys, I am currently posting a story called 'The Year of the Weasley Scarves.' Chapter 6 went up today and the Epilogue will be posted Christmas week. It will be a very Christmas-y ending.

Thanks for reading and reviewing!


	5. Red and Green: Charlie

Prompt: Red and Green

Charlie

Dec. 12, 1987

Errol swooped through the Great Hall to land before Charlie bearing a red and green package. The ginger boy relieved the old owl of its burden and offered him a bit of bacon. Unlike most owls, Errol did not immediately fly away after his job was finished. Instead, he heaved a sigh and nestled down for a snooze.

"He's sitting in the eggs," Fergus Wood commented, one dark brow cocked incredulously.

Charlie smirked at his best mate. "You still want some, then?"

"Uh, no."

"Oh, so what did you get?"

Charlie turned to his right where Tonks had just popped up. Her hair was her usual shade of pink that morning, but it quickly morphed into red and green stripes to mimic Charlie's package. She went to swing her leg over the bench, but caught her foot on the leg and toppled over. Neither boy moved to help her up.

"Merlin's dirty Y-fronts," Fergus muttered, rolling his eyes. "Shouldn't you be wreaking havoc at your own House table, Tonks?"

"It's Charlie's birthday," she replied as if that were all the explanation needed. She scrambled to her knees, then clambered onto the bench with all the grace of a hippogriff on skates.

Fergus picked up an extra plate. "Since you're here, how 'bout I fix you a breakfast. Eggs?"

Tonks ignored him and turned her bright, blue eyes on Charlie. That was her natural eye color—he was fairly certain.

"_So_," she said, patting the package, "what did you get?"

With a sigh, Charlie regarded the red and green paper again. He was pretty sure that inside would be toffee fudge and a pair of dragon hide gloves. He'd needed them when school started up, but with Percy starting this year, there hadn't been enough money. His mum had mended his old pair (something he did himself every other week since the start of term) and promised him a new set by Christmas.

"Oh," was all Tonks said once she saw his gift.

Charlie supposed that she was used to more lavish birthday presents, being an only child and all. But Charlie was impressed. His mum had embroidered his initials in gold thread on each of the gloves. The leather was a bit worn, but supple and well-made. These were quite the find. He'd dreaded a bit that Mum would buy him a new pair and he'd have to break them in, but these…these were gorgeous.

Fergus could care less about the gloves, but he already had his eye on the fudge. He might be Charlie's best friend and dormmate, but Fergus hadn't said two words about Charlie's upcoming birthday. Fergus had, however, nattered on about Mum's fudge for a week. This suited Charlie just fine; there was something weird about boys talking about silly things like birthdays.

"Well, here," Tonks said brightly and plunked a small package down in front of Charlie. It was wrapped in blue paper with Snitches all over it.

Charlie looked from the package to the girl, who was beaming at him. He felt himself blush. Tonks had got him a birthday gift every year since they met. She always made a big production out of using "non-Christmas" paper because his birthday should be special and not lumped in with Christmas. And every year he looked at her like she had five heads. Because who cared what kind of paper his present was wrapped in?

But this year, it seemed weird that Tonks had got him a birthday gift. In fact, everything to do with Tonks seemed weird these days. Fergus said it was because she'd sprouted boobs. Fergus was also marginally nicer to Tonks, and he said that was because of boobs, too. When Charlie had put all this to Bill, his older brother had just laughed and agreed with Fergus.

"Erm, thanks, Tonks," Charlie muttered.

"Well, open it, you prat!"

Charlie pulled back the paper to reveal a box. Inside the box were two tickets to the Shrieking Harpies concert over Christmas hols. He stared at the tickets, dumbfounded, until Fergus grabbed one out of the box.

"Wow, thanks, Nympho," Fergus said with a smirk. "Charlie and I will enjoy this concert."

"As a matter of fact, Fuckus," Tonks snapped, "one of those tickets is for you. I thought it would be fun if the three of us went."

Fergus pulled an impressed face. "Well, in that case, don't eat the eggs, they have owl shit on 'em."

In years past, that remark (let alone the "Nympho" thing) would have got Fergus hexed, but Tonks let that go. She, too, had started being nice to Fergus on occasion. When asked, Bill had shrugged and made some vague comment about 'hormones.' Charlie thought he rather preferred it when his two best mates were at each other's throats.

After breakfast, Charlie sent Fergus ahead to Transfiguration and pulled Tonks aside.

"What is it, Charlie boy?"

Charlie looked at his trainers. He was beet red, he knew he was.

"Listen," he started and rubbed the back of his neck, "about the tickets. That was—wow, that was real nice, but I can't accept them."

"What? Of course you can. They're your birthday gift."

"It's too much, Tonks." Charlie risked looking at her then. "I could never get you something like this."

"I know, but that doesn't matter."

How did Charlie explain this to her? Being poor, it wasn't something he was ashamed of. He knew that the lack of material goods was the tradeoff for having a big family, and he wouldn't trade that for anything. But he had his pride still. He couldn't and wouldn't accept pity or charity. For every time he had to mend his old gloves, there was someone in the world much worse off than he was. Accepting this gift from Tonks put them on unequal footing. She had done something for him that he could never pay back and it would always be awkward.

"It matters to me," Charlie said softly. "I appreciate it, and it would have been lots of fun, but I can't take the ticket."

Tonks' hair went flame red and her face scrunched up like it did right before she punched him. Then something happened that he wasn't expecting. Instead of belting him one, she propped one fist on her hip and jutted it out. Merlin's soggy long johns, she looked like a girl. That was bloody scary.

"You are being stupid, Weasley," she spat.

"I will always feel like I owe you something," Charlie replied, his voice rising slightly. "Our friendship won't be the same if I let you give this to me, and I can't afford to buy it from you."

"It's a gift, you dunderhead."

"I don't know why you get me anything anyways, Tonks. It's so…girly."

"I _am_ a girl."

"Well, now maybe," Charlie snapped back and without really thinking about it, he looked at her chest.

And then he got punched.

oOo

Charlie heard Dougal Wood call him into the sixth year boy's dormitory, but he knew Bill was inside, too. It had been a long and miserable birthday and he was glad it was coming to an end. Charlie dragged himself through the door and collapsed face first into Bill's bed.

"Happy birthday, Charlie," Dougal said. "Heard it's been a rough one."

To say the least. Charlie had shown up to Transfiguration with a fat lip and a bleeding cut. Fergus had healed the cut before McGonagall noticed. After class, Charlie had explained to his mate that he couldn't accept the concert tickets. Fergus had not been surprised.

"_Would it be weird if I still went?" Fergus asked._

"_Yes."_

"_Ah, thought so." Fergus flashed Charlie a grin. "What if I promised not to snog her?"_

"_Then I'll promise not to break your nose, git."_

Charlie felt the mattress dip under the weight of another person. He looked to the left to find Bill sitting on the edge of the bed.

"Yeah, well, I'll just be going," Dougal said.

"I do not want to find you and Catriona in a broom cupboard during prefect rounds tonight," Bill warned.

Dougal chuckled. "Then don't go looking in the cupboards, mate. Hope your birthday gets better, Char."

The door opened, then closed with a soft click. Bill and Charlie both waited until Dougal was gone before speaking. Charlie hated to admit it, but there were times he really needed his big brother around and this was one of them. Mostly, the two of them were _the _big brothers. The ones all the others looked up to. They were a team, even if Bill liked to lord those two years over Charlie's head. But on occasion, Charlie needed to be the little brother.

"So," Bill said, his hands clasped in his lap, "I heard about the concert tickets."

"Do you think I did the wrong thing?" Charlie asked.

"Depends. Why did you give the tickets back?"

Charlie sat up and hung his head. "It was too extravagant. I would never be able to reciprocate and I didn't want to feel like I was in her debt."

"Ah, pride."

A bit of temper flared in Charlie's chest. "Don't be a prat."

"Sorry," Bill said with a shrug. "For what it's worth, I would have probably done the same thing."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, but that doesn't mean it was the right thing to do."

"I just didn't want things to be weird between us," Charlie said miserably, then added, "Or at least not any weirder than they already are."

"Sorry to tell you, Charlie, but I think your friendship with Tonks is just going to get…more complicated from here."

Bill reached out and patted Charlie on the back.

They sat in silence for a moment as Charlie thought about what Bill said. Why couldn't things just go on as they had been? Fergus and Tonks could squabble and hex each other, then the three of them could wander down to Hagrid's for a spot of tea and a good laugh. Now, Fergus and Tonks _flirted _with each other and Charlie had to admit that he'd had more than one fantasy about snogging his female best mate. Granted, he'd fantasized about nearly every girl he saw, but it was awkward to think about kissing a girl who spent her summers climbing trees in your orchard.

Charlie flopped onto his back and stared at the canopy over his brother's bed. "Why are girls so confusing?"

Bill laughed. "That's the best thing about them, Charlie. They are a mystery waiting to be unraveled."

Charlie thought that was a bunch of bunk. Leave it to his brother—with his inflated sense of his own intelligence—to say something daft like that. Sure, Bill, with his love of riddles and details, thought all this male/female stuff was intriguing. Charlie would much rather it be simple and straightforward, like feeding a hippogriff.

"Bill," Charlie scoffed, "of all the dumb things to come out of your mouth, that was the dumbest. Maybe _you_ are a girl with your hair and incomprehensible thought processes."

Bill just chuckled. "Come on, little brother, we'll find Percy and celebrate your birthday Weasley style."

oOo

"Wait, but it's almost curfew," Percy protested, being dragged along by both of his older brothers.

"We're prefects, Perce, relax," Bill said, sharing a look with Charlie over their little brother's head.

"Where are we going?"

"Just enjoy the adventure, would you?" Charlie replied with a roll of his eyes.

'Percy' and 'adventure' were not words that fit in the same sentence. Charlie wondered if Percy had done any exploring of the castle since arriving in September. Sometimes, he didn't know how Percy had ended up in Gryffindor at all. Charlie'd had Percy pegged as a Ravenclaw for sure.

Pretty soon, the three Weasley brothers were standing in front of a painting of a bowl of fruit.

"Percy, tickle the pear," Bill instructed with a nod towards the painting.

Percy shot Bill an incredulous look. "How do you tickle a pear?"

"Like this," Charlie answered. He tickled Percy's armpit, making him squirm and wiggle away.

Once out of arm reach, Percy regarded his brothers with great dignity. He pushed his glasses up his nose, obviously trying to decide whether he could trust them or not. Charlie couldn't blame the kid. Of all the brothers, Percy took the brunt of the teasing.

"We're not taking the mickey, Percy, I promise," Bill said seriously.

With a stiff nod, Percy turned back to the painting and tickled the pear. It laughed and turned into a doorknob. Percy shot an amazed look over his shoulder, a big grin on his freckled face. Bill ruffled the boy's hair, then pulled the door open to reveal the best room in all of Hogwarts: the kitchens.

Dozens of tiny house elves milled around the warm, bright room. Cooper pots hung from racks on the ceiling and giant, enameled ovens awaited finely crafted delicacies. Bill steered Percy into the kitchen, Charlie following one step behind. One of the house elves came over to bow low before them.

"Masters Wheezy, what can Lufty do for you?" it asked.

"It's Charlie's birthday today," Bill said. "If it's not too much trouble, we would like to celebrate it with cake and milk, please."

"Yes, master. Of course, master."

Soon, the boys found themselves in a corner with a slice of chocolate cake and a big glass of milk. Percy had temporarily lost all decorum and was sitting on the floor, up to a little table, sporting a milk mustache. Bill was at his leisure, leaning back in the chair with one ankle propped on the other knee. And Charlie felt content for the first time all day.

Percy wiped his mouth on a napkin, then looked at Charlie. "One of the girls in my year had a birthday yesterday. She was complaining about her birthday being so close to Christmas. She said she gets fewer gifts because her birthday just gets lumped in with Christmas."

"That's some girl thinking for you," Charlie muttered.

Bill poked Charlie in the shoulder. "And _those_ are some of Fergus' thoughts right there."

"I was wondering if you minded your birthday being near Christmas?" Percy asked.

Charlie regarded his little brother for a moment while he thought about his answer. He supposed he'd never given it much thought. He'd never expected many gifts for either occasion, so he didn't really care much about that. Mum had made a fuss about his birthday with a cake and his favorite meal before he left for Hogwarts. Even now, when they returned for Christmas hols, Bill and Charlie were greeted home with two special cakes to celebrate the birthdays that passed while they were at school.

"No, Percy," Charlie said carefully, examining his cake for a moment before looking at his little brother. "I always thought it made me special, you know? My birthday is thirteen days before the most special day of the year. But for all the weeks leading up to it? People are nicer…maybe even happier just because of the season.

"Families get together and friends have parties. People remember to take care of the poor-like when Mum makes the extra jumpers for the war orphans or Dad slips a few more sickles into the bell ringers' buckets. Then, Christmas comes and we are all together as a family. It's the only day of the year when we know Dad won't be called into work. Mum makes all those fancy desserts and we're home from Hogwarts and Ginny and Ronnie still believe in Santa. We're a family and we're together and we're happy and my birthday? It's a part of all that."

Bill slapped Charlie on the back. "Well said, little brother."

oOo

Upon exiting the kitchen, the three Weasley boys ran into Tonks. Both she and Charlie stopped, regarding one another speculatively. Bill took Percy by the elbow and led him out of the corridor.

"Hey," Charlie said.

"Wotcher," she replied, scuffing her shoe.

"Sorry I, um," Charlie began and he blushed bright red, "you know, ogled you."

"Yeah, sorry I split your lip," Tonks said, swinging her arms awkwardly until she accidently hit herself in the chin.

Charlie snorted. "Tonks, just…stand still, for Merlin's sake."

She wrapped her arms around herself. "Why can't you take the ticket, Charlie, is it a stupid boy thing?"

"A stupid—" Charlie repressed a grin. Hearing his words echoed to him was pretty damn funny. Maybe Tonks was as confused as he was about all these new feelings and urges and body parts. "No, it's not a boy thing."

"It's just…I've been planning this ever since the concert was announced last spring. I worked my arse off all summer to raise the money for the tickets because I thought the three of us would have a lot of fun."

"You did?"

Tonks chewed on her lip and nodded. "Yep. Mum was against the whole thing, but Dad said I would have to work for it…so, I did."

"Wow, Tonks, that's amazing." Charlie shook his head. "But I can't pay you back."

"It's a _gift_, you bloody idiot. You don't have to pay me back."

"What happens in the spring when all I can afford to give you for your birthday is some acid pops?"

"I'll say 'thanks.'"

Tonks, she made it all sound so simple. Or was that just his desire to go to the concert speaking? Charlie was still afraid this would hurt their friendship, but not accepting her gift was kind of like insulting her, wasn't it? Especially since she earned the money herself to buy the tickets.

"I'd have to ask my mum," Charlie said slowly.

"Really, Charlie?"

Tonks went to throw her arms around Charlie's neck, but tripped and fell into his arms with an 'oof'. He froze with his arms around her shoulders and their chests pressed together. Merlin, that was weird…and nice. He was going to have to talk to her about a "no hugging rule."

"Mum'll probably say 'no,'" Charlie warned, pushing Tonks to arm's length.

Tonks flashed him a big grin. "Fergus and I will sneak you out. It'll be great."

"That sounds like a plan to get me murdered," Charlie laughed.

"I am so glad you changed your mind," Tonks said. "Happy birthday, Charlie."

Charlie blushed. "Thanks, mate."

* * *

Author's Notes: Today is my birthday! I am 34 again. Please gift me with a review.

A/N2: If you are wondering about my Original Characters, Dougal and Fergus Wood (and I realize that you are not), they appear in my story 'Pictures of You' about Katie Bell and Oliver Wood.


	6. Christmas Movies: Ron

Prompt: Christmas Movies

Ron and Hermione

"Ron, what are you doing out here?"

Hermione was bundled up in her big winter coat—she called it a parka—and snow boots over her pajamas. She dodged out onto the terrace of her parents' home with her arms folded to keep warm and the furry hood of her parka thing pulled up over her bushy hair. There was something comical about that. Like her head had been attacked by a beaver or something, but Ron knew better than to say that aloud.

"Did I wake you?" he asked, as she came over to the stone wall he was sitting on.

This was not like the stone wall that fenced the Burrow. The one at home was a bit higgledy-piggledy, with sharp stones in shades of gold and brown jutting out here and there. This one was made up of smooth, gray rocks constructed uniformly.

"No," Hermione said. "I woke to go to the bathroom, and you weren't there. What are you doing out here?"

Ron shrugged. "Just thinking…about those movies you had me watch tonight."

"The Christmas movies? Are you still worried about the talking ducks?"

They'd watched something called _Mickey's Christmas Carol_—which, by and by, did not have any carols in it—but did have talking mice and ducks. Not even magical animals could talk! Well, he supposed that Scabbers could talk after a fashion; and Ron supposed that Professor McGonagall was a cat in some weird way. But those examples didn't count, they were people.

"No, I've come to terms with Muggles being nutters," he said with a shrug.

"Honestly, Ron—"

He waved her off. "I'm just taking the mickey, Hermione, relax."

Hermione huffed, her breath visible on the cold air. "So, if it's not the ducks, then what are you thinking about? _It's A Wonderful Life_?"

For a moment, Ron didn't say anything. Because, of course, she was right. That movie had been bloody long (parts of it, he'd dozed off), but then George Bailey had jumped off a bridge to save a perfect stranger, and something magical happened. Hermione had cried through the last hour of the movie, but if Ron was honest, he'd have liked to cry, too.

"It is a really good movie," Hermione said, snuggling into his side.

"I used to wonder that, you know," Ron said, staring out into the snowy garden. "What if I was never born? Wouldn't everybody's life be better?"

"Oh, Ron," Hermione gasped.

He'd been the sixth son in a poor family. His arrival just made everybody's lives a little more strained. And all of his brothers were bloody exceptional. Right from the start, Bill had set the wand high with his winning smile and powerful intellect. Then Charlie was charming and athletic. Percy was smart and driven, though at least he was a bit less charming. Then the twins—well, there were two of them, weren't there? What had Ron added to the family? Other than another mouth to feed and feet to shod?

Wouldn't the Weasleys be better off with one less son?

Until there was one less son, and the family wasn't better off. Not by a long shot.

"You have to know—" Hermione was saying.

Ron turned to her and kissed her. "I do," he said in little more than a whisper. "I do now."

Sometimes he still wasn't sure what he had to offer a family full of brilliant people, but he knew that having one less Weasley in the world was the worst thing that could happen. Besides, what would happen if he weren't around to save Harry's arse all the time? And Hermione? She'd just be wasted on a stupid git like _Viktor Krum_. So, Ron figured, his life must have value and he didn't need some half-mad angel to help him see that.

He had Hermione. And that was enough.

"It's midnight, you know?" Hermione said.

Ron looked at her expectantly.

"It's Christmas morning, of course."

He smiled and kissed her again. "Merry Christmas, Hermione."

"Merry Christmas, Ron."


	7. Christmas Tree: Percy

Warning: So, the others thus far have been very family oriented (even if Charlie was distracted by Tonks' boobs). The next two are going to be couple stories. This one is…um…er….sexy? I think I kept it at a T rating, but there is talk of a sexual nature, innuendo, kissing and um, I think that covers it. So, if that is not your cup of tea, you might want to skip this one. The next one is less sexy and is therefore safer. However, if that _is_ your cup of tea, enjoy….

Disclaimer: The characters and world belong to JK Rowling.

Prompt: Christmas Tree

Percy and Audrey

Christmas Eve, 1997

Percy trudged up the stairs to his flat. It was Christmas Eve, the Ministry of Magic had closed up early. He should have taken the opportunity to rifle through the Umbridge's desk, but quite frankly, he'd taken too many risks of late. He didn't have a death wish.

It would be a ham and cheese sandwich on wheat tonight. The most exciting prospect of that was the mayonnaise. At home, his mum would be preparing the Christmas pudding to serve with tomorrow's meal. Come morning, she'd be the first up to put the turkey in the oven. There would be mashed parsnips, carrots, cranberry sauce, gravy. On years when there was extra money, there'd be little sausages garnishing the turkey platter. Percy supposed that this year wasn't going to afford little sausages.

He let himself into his flat. Another Christmas alone. Oliver was in Europe, on tour with Puddlemere. Percy might have seen Bill, but he was having a "private" Christmas with Fleur. Although, Percy was pretty sure that "private" was code for top secret Order business. And Audrey was at home with her family. Right where he told her to be. They weren't much more than friends with benefits, after all.

Even if he would have liked them to be more.

Percy thought of the pretty little necklace he'd bought her. They had agreed they wouldn't exchange gifts—since they were just friends—and besides, Audrey's pockets were let. She'd gotten a job at a Muggle department store just to afford to buy small baubles for her siblings and nieces.

Yet, Percy had not been able to resist. It was a simple, little thing, just a trinket really. I tiny oval terrarium on a silver chain. Inside was a red everlasting poppy that bloomed anew every day. He didn't know why he'd bought it, Audrey was hardly even interested in herbology. But when Percy had seen the brightly colored flower blooming in a world that closed it in, he'd thought of Audrey.

Percy set his briefcase on the ancient bureau that now stood just inside the door of his flat. Audrey had found it at some shabby antique shop six weeks ago, and insisted he buy it. He began to loosen his tie, when he realized that something was amiss. Percy whipped out his wand, cursing himself for being so distracted. They were in a war. He was up to his neck in activities that were guaranteed to get him killed. There was no room for distraction.

A rustling sound was coming from his bedroom. Cautiously, Percy edged closer to the room. He heard what sounded like something being dragged across the floor. What in blazes?

The door was ajar, but he pushed it open a little further. Percy could hear the crackle of a fire in the hearth, its flames casting shadow and light over the room. The smell of pine and cinnamon was in the air, and the sound of colorful swear words muttered under somebody's breath. Somehow, it all spoke of Christmas.

Percy peered around the door. The sight before him left him speechless. A gigantic Christmas tree stood in the middle of his room in a red basket of some sort. The tree was much too tall and its top curved over against the ceiling. It was half draped in twinkling fairy lights. Delicate, colorful glass ornaments were tucked into the boughs. A string of popcorn was floating through the air to arrange itself around the tree. And then there was Audrey.

She was dressed strangely from head to toe. Strangely, yet provocatively. She wore a funny, little, green hat that curved to a point at the end and had a bell hanging off the tip. The short, flared skirt matched and had suspenders over a tightfitting, red top. She was wearing red and white striped stockings and green booties that also came to a point and had bells dangling from their tips.

There was no question that this was Audrey. Still, one couldn't be too cautious…

"Declare yourself!" he barked.

Audrey startled and whipped around to the sound of tinkling bells. The popcorn fell to the floor. The top she was wearing was not only tightfitting, but also low cut. She was obviously wearing one of those bras that made the most of her modest décolletage. Percy suppressed what would surely be a wicked grin and wished other parts of his anatomy were so easily controlled.

"Audrey Sprayberry, as well you know," she replied, propping one hand on her hip.

"Prove it."

"On September 1, you brought me to your flat and you shagged me on the coffee table hardly five minutes later."

Percy felt himself go red. When would he learn to not challenge her?

"Let the record show, I made you-"

"That you did, Gryffindor," she said and giggled, rocking onto her toes making the bells tinkle again. "And Duly noted."

Percy leaned against the doorjamb and indicated her outfit with his wand. "So, this getup…what are you supposed to be?"

"I'm one of Santa's elves, of course."

Percy arched one eyebrow. "Really? Santa's elves are scantily clad sex kittens, then?"

"Well, this is what Muggles think elves look like," she amended and did a little turn so he could get the full effect. She flipped the skirt up so he got a look at her knickers. Red, with gold writing. He didn't catch what it said, but oh, he was very curious now.

"This is what I have been doing at the department store," Audrey explained. "I am Santa's helper. I help all the greedy, fat, sticky Muggle children into Santa's lap, then send them on their way with a candy cane."

She crossed the room and grabbed hold of his tie.

"Muggles think it's appropriate to expose children to so much cleavage?" Percy asked.

He pulled the hat off her head, and tossed it aside. At some point Audrey had taken a bath in those wonderful, rose-scented bath oils she liked so much. Merlin, was she trying to drive him mad? His erection was already becoming urgent.

Audrey ran one hand down the length of Percy's tie, then looked up at him under her eyelashes. "I might have altered the uniform a bit for one particularly good boy."

Her voice was little more than a purr. Percy reached for her, but she stepped away, still grasping his tie. Audrey shot him that foxy little smile. Merlin, he was a goner.

"I suppose I am never destined to be the naughty boy, am I?" Percy returned with a grin as Audrey led him by the tie into the room.

"Oh, I don't know. Not a bad boy, certainly, but you've done some naughty things to me."

Percy shrugged out of his robes, tossing them in the direction of the bed. His shoes went next, he used his wand to levitate them into the closet. Audrey was laughing at him-that loud, joyous laugh that never seemed like it should come from a person so small. Percy felt a golden bubble of happiness form in his chest. It was so precious and fragile. It made him feel warm from the inside out. He didn't know when he'd ever felt it before meeting Audrey. He was afraid it would burst and he would never feel warm again.

"What do you knickers say?" he asked.

Her eyebrows shot up. "Now, where is the fun in _telling _you, Gryffindor?"

Percy grabbed hold of the hand still gripping his tie and pulled her near. Audrey's big, brown eyes went wide, flashing with excitement. He turned her about so that her slim back was very nearly touching his chest, but not quite. His lofty height afforded him a lovely view down the front of her top.

"Candy cane stockings?" he asked, trailing his fingertips down her arms. He felt her shiver and his body answered in kind.

"I always liked candy canes," he murmured into her ear. "I liked sucking on them until they got all sticky." He tickled the inside of her elbow. "I liked the sweet flavor and the way they'd leave my mouth all messy." Her eyes slid shut and she took a deep, slow breath. "Yes," he said thoughtfully as his lips skimmed the column of her neck, her muscles were quivering, "I think we will keep those on. Yes?"

Audrey nodded her head. "Yes."

"Good girl."

Catching her by the shoulders, Percy pulled Audrey against his chest. She stood on tiptoe so that she could slide her arms around his neck. Percy began nibbling her bottom lip, sucking on it and running his tongue along her teeth. His long arms went around Audrey's narrow back, his fingers skimming down her spine. She sighed into his kiss, so he did it again. Percy let his hands travel a little further south while kissing his way across her cheek and down her neck to her shoulder. He found the hem of her skirt, only to delve under it. He found the tops of her stockings with his fingertips, feature-light they glided up the backs of her thighs to cup her pert, satin-covered bottom.

Percy flipped up her skirt and read the words across her knickers, chuckling heartily.

_Ho! Ho! Ho! _Indeed.

oOo

"Bloody hell," Percy muttered and shifted his bare backside on the wood floor. "I think I've got pine needles poking me in the rear."

"They were sticking me in the knees," Audrey said, rolling onto her back and stretching.

"What?" Percy demanded, half sitting up. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Audrey pushed him back down with a roll of her eyes. "What? I should have said, 'Excuse me, Percy, could you please stop shagging me senseless, I've got a wee bit of discomfort.' I don't bloody well think so."

"Still, we could move to the bed."

"No, I like it right here, thank you."

Audrey was looking up at the twinkling tree. The fairy lights were reflecting in her eyes and the firelight from the hearth warmed her dark hair. It was rather magical.

Percy groped around for his wand, not wanting to move too far from the body next to his. He found it tangled with their clothes and pulled it free. He performed a handy little spell that cleaned both of them up a bit and made Audrey giggle ("That tickles!"). Then he summoned the pillows and blanket from his bed. Audrey watched with an amused grin as he jostled her around, making a little nest for the two of them. When Percy lay back down, Audrey rolled into him. She rested her head on his shoulder and draped her leg over his, her fingers drawing circles over his chest.

"Why did you get such a big tree?" he asked after some time.

Audrey glanced up at it. "I bought it at a Muggle stand near the department store. The measurement was in meters, not feet, I wasn't sure exactly how big it was until I got it into your flat."

"Still, you couldn't look at it and think, 'That's bloody big.'"

"Percy," she gave him an incredulous look, "are you complaining about my inability to judge an object's size?" She gave his waist a pointed look. "Have you any idea what I've been telling my friends?"

He felt the blush creep up his neck into his face. Was she saying…Did she mean…Surely, she was just taking the mickey, he knew she was taking the mickey. Merlin, he hoped she was taking the mickey. Her friends consisted of Fleur, Angelina and Alicia. He didn't want any of them thinking…Percy goosed Audrey.

"Minx."

She was giggling into his shoulder. "Like you couldn't stand it if _that_ got back to your brothers."

"Audrey," Percy huffed. "The Burrow has one bathroom. One. Do you know what that means?"

She looked at him with a very self-satisfied smile. "Enlighten me."

"It means I've spent most of my life pissing behind a tree in the orchard and having one of the twins walk in on me. My brothers will know that is a lie."

Audrey was laughing outright now and soon Percy found himself laughing too. Because he always laughed when she did. He felt that bubble of happiness in his chest again.

"Honestly, Audrey," he said, skimming his hand down her back. "How did you afford all this?"

She leaned her chin on her hand so that she could look at him. "Seth told me that if I did all the shopping, he would let me put my name on the gifts, too."

Percy felt a rush of fondness for the brother closest to Audrey in age. Seth made a big show of being annoyed by Audrey (and Percy rather thought there was a lot of truth to that) but he had a way of doting on her. Percy rather admired Seth Sprayberry, really. The ginger wizard hoped the sentiment went both ways, but rather doubted it. Every big brother cell in Percy's body told him that one simply does not like the bloke shagging one's little sister.

"Well, anyway," Audrey continued. "I figured I would use the money I was making to do…all this."

She sat up, cross-legged, and admired the tree again. "I bought the bra and knickers at this Muggle shop called Victoria's Secret. And her secret, evidently, is that she is a slag. So, I thought I would do up a little dinner, but Muggle underwear is a lot more expensive than I would have imagined."

"And you thought I'd rather have a bite out of your arse rather than a bit of ham?"

Mischief was sparkling in Audrey's eyes when she looked at him. "Besides, I'm a lousy cook, but I'm a pretty good shag."

Percy laughed, tracing lines up and down her inner thigh with his fingertips. "Still, I thought we weren't doing the gift thing."

Audrey shrugged one shoulder. "This isn't a gift, it's just an elaborate way to get in your pants."

"Really?" He cocked one eyebrow. "Because showing up on my doorstep wouldn't have worked?"

She tucked her hair behind her ear and looked at her lap. "I didn't want you to be alone on Christmas, Percy."

For a moment, he just looked at her, a heavy ache in his chest. They were just friends who shagged, that's what she kept telling him. But something inside of him had long left friendship behind. He _cared _for Audrey and in moments like this, Percy thought she might care for him as well. More than she would prefer to admit.

Abruptly, Percy sat up. Audrey looked at him from under her eyelashes. Merlin, she was so pretty. He cupped the back of her head in his hand and lightly grasped her shoulder with the other, then he kissed her. It was soft and chaste and spoke of gratitude.

"Next Christmas," he said, eyes still closed, "maybe the war will be over and I'll be home at the Burrow. Bill and Fleur will probably have a baby by then."

She laughed. "I give them two weeks after the war ends to begin repopulating the Wizarding world."

"Ron and Ginny will be safe and sound. Charlie will visit from Romania with a few more burn marks. The twins will take the mickey out of me, but I'll remember to laugh along because they don't really mean anything by it…and because you'll be with me, yes?"

The silence stretched between them for a moment. Percy's heart was beating so loudly in his chest that he was sure Audrey could hear it. Finally, she touched his chest.

"I like the sound of that," she whispered.

He kissed her more soundly this time. When he broke away, he jumped up and she nearly toppled over. He just grinned, his heart swelling in a new way that made him want to laugh and smile and run to the top of the tallest building he could find and shout, "Merry Christmas!"

Instead, he went to his nightstand and fetched a box out of the drawer.

"I bought you a gift," he said. "It's not much and I didn't wrap it because…"

Audrey was looking up at him with a smile as she took the long, slim box he offered. He settled down on the blanket in front of her. She leaned forward to give him a kiss.

"Well," he said, trying not to sound anxious, "are you going to open it up?"

Audrey pulled the lid off to find the everlasting poppy necklace. She ran her fingers over the glass terrarium lightly.

"Oh, Percy, it's beautiful." She looked at him. "Thank you."

Taking the box, he smiled. "Here, let me…"

Audrey turned around, presenting him with her bare back and held her hair out of the way. Percy placed the necklace around her slender neck, then worked the clasp without much fuss. He kissed her behind the ear, at the base of her neck, on her back. She looked at him over her shoulder and he kissed her mouth too.

Tomorrow, Errol would undoubtedly appear at his window with the Weasley jumper his mum knitted him every year. Percy—being the prideful, stubborn fool that he was-would undoubtedly send it back, even when he knew it broke her heart (it broke his, too). He would eat another turkey sandwich, maybe with a little extra mayonnaise this time. But on this Christmas Eve, he was not alone for the first time in a long time.

In a week's time, it would be the New Year with its shiny new possibilities. He prayed that they would be good ones. An end to the war, a reunion with his family, and Audrey.

"Merry Christmas, Gryffindor," Audrey said.

Percy gathered her in his arms. "Merry Christmas."


	8. Holiday Party: George

Author's Note: Thanks to all those who have favorited or followed this story!

* * *

Prompt: Holiday Party

George and Angelina

_Come over after the shop closes Christmas Eve,_ he said, _I'll make it worth your while, I promise._

So, with those words, Angelina let her hopes get raised. She pulled out her sexiest purple frock, then put it away. It'd be a long day at the shop, she didn't think he would be keen for a big night on the town. So, she pulled out her prettiest burgundy frock, then put it away. He didn't say anything about it being a special occasion, just to come by. So, she put on a pair of denims-the ones that made her arse look so good grown men were known to cry-and a white jumper that was almost too short so that every time she reached for something he'd get a glimpse of her midriff. She left the sexy purple underwear on, however. No matter what they did, there was only one way for the night to end.

Or so she thought.

From across the room, Angelina stared daggers at the one-eared, ginger git she had the misfortune of being in love with. She had arrived at the back door just after closing, only to find that she wasn't alone. There was half the Weasley clan, most of her old Quidditch team from school, Lee Jordan, a number of Dumbledore's Army and a whole host of people she didn't even know.

George, it seemed, was having a holiday party.

So, there she stood with a bottle of butterbeer in her hand wishing it was fire whiskey. Six months, Angelina and George had circled around each other. Laughing, joking, and talking for hours and hours. Wondering: were they, weren't they? And then another six months shagging, and still wondering.

Angelina was in love with George Weasley. She had been for a long time, if she were being honest. But she was too afraid to say it to him. She never knew where his head was at; he didn't either. And that was the problem. Because, honestly, she thought that maybe he was in love with her, too, but she was afraid he wouldn't know it if he were. So, what if he didn't say it back? What if he walked away?

Angelina was pretty sure that she could handle a broken heart. She could handle being alone. She wasn't so sure she could manage both at the same time. So, she wasn't going to be the one to say it first. Not very Gryffindor of her, but so be it.

Time passed, she wasn't sure how much, but she had a neat row of bottles in front of her.

"You pining?" Alicia asked, tucking her head onto Angelina's shoulder.

"No, of course not."

Alicia wrapped an arm around Angelina's waist and fell silent. Alicia would go home to the flat she shared with Lee after the party. They'd wake up in bed together on Christmas morning without any doubt of who they'd be spending the next Christmas with. Katie wasn't even at the party. She was up in Scotland with Oliver, tucking their little boys in bed with stories about Santa Clause and new brooms under the Christmas tree. Angelina felt as though she was just stuck, neither going forward nor backward.

"He didn't tell me it would be a party," Angelina told Alicia. Tears stung at her eyes and she hated George Weasley in that moment. "I thought it would just be the two of us."

"Maybe it's just too soon," Alicia said quietly.

"It's been three and a half years."

"Grief knows no timeline, especially not a grief like that."

Closing her eyes, Angelina took a deep, steadying breath. She knew Alicia was right, but that was what really frightened her. To admit that George was not ready to move on was to admit that she needed to walk away from him. What if they never found their way back to each other again?

"I think I'm going to go home," Angelina said, setting another bottle in the row.

Alicia hugged her. "Happy Christmas, then. And we'll do our New Year's thing?"

Angelina nodded and squeezed her oldest friend. Well, oldest if you didn't count George (and Fred). They'd been the first to join Angelina's compartment on the Hogwarts Express all those years ago. Freshly kicked out of Percy's compartment for bad behavior.

With a heavy heart, and wishing she did not have to go to her mum's the next day, Angelina winded her way through the party goers. She was nearly to the back door when she was stopped by a hand on her shoulder. She was whipped around to face the freckly, ginger bastard himself. He was grinning at her, though his blue eyes looked a bit worried.

"Where are you headed, Johnson? Party just got started."

Angelina stood straight, pushing her chest out. She was a fraction taller than George anyway, but in her high heeled boots, she had nearly three inches on him. She smirked.

"I have a headache."

"Weasley's Wizard Wheezes has a potion for that," he said with a grin, crossing his arms over her chest and rocking back on his heels. "In fact, we have a cure for all that ails you."

Angelina kept her smile in place. She wished that were true.

"Well, I'll take it to go then. I'm not in a party mood tonight."

Something flashed across George's face that could have been annoyance. It made Angelina want to hit him. What right did he have to be annoyed with her? She wasn't the one messing him about.

"Then why'd you come by?" he asked.

"Didn't know it would be a party, did I?"

George blinked. "You thought…"

"Seems a bit foolish now," she allowed.

_Here I am, George, making a fool of myself…over you, again and again._

"I'll send this lot home," he offered with a wide grin.

Angelina eyed him apprehensively. There was the wide grin and bright eyes like he was taking the piss. But his tone was…almost…hopeful. What did that mean? Oh, she wanted to believe in that, but George had her all turned around and she didn't trust her instincts anymore.

"No, George," she said, shaking her head. She wasn't going to listen to her heart tonight. Tonight she was going to be sensible. "Enjoy your party. I'll just be going."

He grabbed her hand. "Well, let me give you your gift, at least."

He'd gotten her a gift? She wasn't really surprised by this. They'd been friends for a long time. They'd been something more than friends for quite a long time, too. It made sense that they would exchange gifts. Her heart was just being stupid when it skipped a beat.

"Just…wait here," George said, "I'll be right back."

Angelina watched him run off and her heart sank a bit. He'd gotten her a gift that she could open in a room full of their friends. The gift she'd made him was personal and private. Really, this was a good thing. It told her where they stood. She needed to take the hint and move on. She edge closer to the door and pulled out her Burberry coat and the gorgeous red bag that Lavender Brown made for her.

"Hey! Hey!" George called, jogging to her side. "I wanted…Just…Here."

Angelina looped her bag over her elbow and accepted the square package. It was wrapped in neon yellow paper with farting hippogriffs in Santa's hats on it. She couldn't help but laugh.

"You're design?"

George flashed her that wide, mischievous grin. "I'll have an entire line for next Christmas. There will be blast-ended newts that belch smoke and grindylow flipping the bird."

"Nice, George. Nothing says 'Happy Christmas' like a hippogriff with a gas problem."

"Exactly!"

Angelina was still smiling as she ripped off the paper. It emitted a rank smell. "George!"

He chuckled. "Too much?"

"Yes! That's the trouble with you, you always go a step too far."

"And I was the sensible one," he said, mockingly forlorn. "Guess I need someone to reign me in, keep me from being tacky. Ron is obviously not up to the task."

"Obviously."

"Know anyone who wants the job?"

Angelina ignored him for the moment. She'd see what was in the box first, then she'd think about his question. She pried off the lid. It was…She made a face.

"What is this, George?"

It was an angel broach. A white angel with red hair at that. It was cheesy and tacky and something she wouldn't wear and…

"My name's not 'Angel'," she growled. "No one calls me 'Angel', not even you, you prat. Is this a joke? My skin is brown, in case you hadn't noticed during one of the hundreds of times I've let you see all of it."

Angelina ripped the stupid angel out of the box and fumbled with the clasp. She got it undone, stabbing her finger. Tears came to her eyes as she saw the crimson blood pool on her finger. Dammit! She grabbed his shirt front and pinned the angel to it.

"There!" she said, her voice as harsh as a shout and as soft as a whisper. "You wear it. It's your stupid angel."

Angelina pulled her hand back and realized she'd pinned the angel right over his heart. That was wrong, that was all wrong. It hurt to see it pinned right over his heart like some sort of token of her love when it was really just a stupid, thoughtless prank. She grabbed it.

George covered her hand with his, flattening her palm over the angel, over his heart.

"Don't," he said quietly. "It's right where it should be."

They stared into each other's eyes for a moment. He was serious, but what did he mean?

"Have a happy Christmas, George," she said flatly. Best just to go and figure out the rest later. "I'll see you…I don't know when I'll see you, do I? Well, bye 'til then."

Angelina snatched her hand away, turned on her heel and marched out the back door into the alley. It had begun to snow. A light, dancing snow that clung to her eyelashes and was melted by her tears. She needed to end this thing with George. He didn't know what he wanted and she was just getting hurt. Maybe, if she ended it now, they could still be friends.

"Angelina!"

She picked up her pace. A few more feet and she could Disapparate.

"Please, don't go!" George yelled.

He was running to catch up with her. When he did, he grabbed her by the arm and spun her around. Tears were falling freely down Angelina's cheeks now. She didn't want him to see her this way. She didn't want him to know how vulnerable she was right before she ended it. Somehow that made it all the worse.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't know what to get you and I thought it would be funny. I mean, it's an angel like you and its ginger like me. If we had a daughter, she'd look like this, right?"

_If they had a…_Ahhhh! What kind of idiocy was this? Did he even think about the words that came out of his mouth before he opened it? Merlin, he just…he just…made her so damn angry!

Angelina gave in to her baser emotions and stomped her foot. When that didn't make her feel better, she kicked him in the shin with her pointy boot. Their daughter? The git! He hopped around in the snow, cursing and holding his injured appendage.

"Dammit, Angelina!"

"What are you on about, Weasley?" Angelina shouted. "Have you gone completely mad or are you just trying to rip my heart out? It was a stupid gift and that was a stupid thing to say. Daughter! I hate you, I wish I hated you!"

George was standing in a shaft of moonlight staring at her. "I'm sorry," he said plainly.

"Stuff it, George. I don't think this is working anymore."

"Don't say that, Angelina," he gasped. "Please, I can't lose you."

"'Losing' implies that there is something to lose, George. What is going on between us anyway?"

"Well, you're my girlfriend, aren't you?"

Angelina pressed her fingertips into her forehead. Should she laugh or scream? Why couldn't she have fallen for one of the more sensible Weasleys? Or one of the tall ones, at least? Why did it have to be George? What was wrong with her?

"Are we fifteen, George?" she demanded. "Would you like to ask me to go with you on the next Hogsmeade weekend and we can snog at Madame Puddifoots? Judging by the way you treat me, I am guessing that I am your fuck buddy half of the time and your best mate the other half."

"Isn't that what a girlfriend is?"

Angelina's mouth fell open.

Speechless, she was speechless.

George edged closer to her. "Are you going to kick me again?"

Angelina shook her head, then nodded it.

"Er, I'll assume that's a 'maybe'," George said. "Fair enough."

He put one finger under her chin and pushed her mouth shut. That seemed to snap Angelina out of her daze. Was George saying that he thought of her as his girlfriend? She took one step back from him, tucking her chin down.

"So, I guess I really stuffed this up, yeah?" George said.

He took the hand she had stabbed with the pin earlier. He examined her injured finger, then took out his wand and healed it. Angelina felt her finger freeze, then grow warm and stingy before becoming good as new. Then George pressed his lips to the tip of her finger. Tears rolled down Angelina's cheeks.

"I am the reason you are crying," George said, and brushed her tears away with his thumb. "I'm sorry for that, I am. I never want to see you hurt."

Angelina took a steadying breath. "What are we doing, George?"

"Will you be my girlfriend?"

Angelina snorted. "What does that mean, exactly?"

His brow furrowed. "Maybe I don't know."

"What do your brothers do with their girlfriends?"

George pulled a face. "Ron and Hermione _bicker_ and then they snog—in my storeroom. _Blch_."

"Okay, so Ron is maybe not a good example. What about the older ones?"

"I never really saw Bill with a girlfriend other than Fleur," George said thoughtfully. "He was very private about her until they got engaged, then he brought her 'round the Burrow to get to know the family. They were right disgusting, they were. Eating off each other's plates and making cow eyes at one another all the time. 'Bout drove Mum spare."

"And Percy, surely he's the sensible one?"

George snorted this time. "Not bloody likely. He was a git with Penelope Clearwater back at Hogwarts, remember? They walked around like king and queen of the world and they had a big secret only they were in on.

"He's a git with Audrey, too, but in a different way. He gets all sappy whenever she's around. She makes him laugh and he likes to take care of her."

"I'd let you take care of me," Angelina whispered. "If you let me take care of you."

"You already do!" George looked at her with stark emotion in his eyes. "I don't know who I'd be if it weren't for your friendship and care, Angelina. That's what I meant when I said you were my angel. I like who I am when you are around."

"I can't fix you, you know that, right?"

"I don't want to be fixed," he said, ducking his head. "I expect to be broken for the rest of my life. Bit of a bad bargain, I am."

Angelina was quiet for a long time, thinking about what he'd just said. They'd spent countless nights talking into the wee hours of the morning about important stuff: Fred, his family, her family, how crazy her mother made her, the war, their parts in it, the importance of cream for a good cuppa tea. Everything. But he'd never said anything like that before.

"I don't mind taking you as is," she said. Tentatively, she reached out and stroked the scar just above the hole that marked the place his ear should be. She knew he was talking about his soul, this was as close as she could physically get to touching that scar.

"So-so, I should maybe take you 'round the Burrow?" George said, looking into her eyes. His were shining with raw hopefulness. "If you are my girlfriend, that is?"

"I could be your girlfriend," Angelina agreed. "I would like that."

"Good, okay, I am going to kiss you now."

Angelina beamed at him. "Finally."

George cupped her face in his hands and brought it down for a kiss. Angelina leaned into him, enjoying just his lips moving against hers and their bodies touching. Merlin, he was a good kisser.

"Bloody hell," George complained, pulling away. "I hate it when you wear those boots. Good girlfriends wear flats, you know?"

Angelina laughed. "Sexy girlfriends wear heals, love."

George sighed in a long-suffering sort of way. He wrapped his arms around her waist, one hand resting on her arse. "I suppose you have a point."

Angelina fingered the angel pinned over his heart. "For the record, George, if we ever have a daughter, she'll have skin like café au lait and black hair."

"Weasleys have powerful ginger genes, you know."

"That's why your niece has blonde hair."

He kissed her neck. "I'll get you a better gift. I just didn't know what you wanted."

"Ask next time, George," Angelina said, tucking her head on his shoulder. "You save a lot of time and heartache if you just ask."

"You're right." He squeezed her and she laughed.

"Get used to saying that."


	9. Gifts: Bill

Arthur's Notes: For no good reason at all, I only got two hours of sleep last night. I'm going to bed early tonight, but unfortunately, that means that Bill's story is coming to you early and Arthur's will be a bit late. Sorry about that!

Fair warning, this one is extra fluffy. You might have a tooth ache afterwards.

* * *

Prompt: Gifts

Bill

In the early hours of a snowy winter morning, Fleur made one last, great push. She squeezed Bill's hand, but no sound came from her as her face flushed and her mouth thinned in determination. A moment later, Bill heard the greatest sound he could imagine: the lusty cry of a healthy newborn coming into the world.

"You did it, Mrs. Weasley," announced the midwife from between Fleur's legs. The aged woman was grinning as if she, herself, had just given birth. "'Tis a fine boy, at last."

Fleur collapsed back against Bill's chest with a content smile on her beautiful face. The midwife handed the squalling, flailing infant over to his mother, and Bill got his first look at his son. Fleur cradled the baby against her chest, her eyes at once soft with awe and fierce with love. Their son was red and plump, with a cap of ginger hair and fine freckles across his nose and cheeks. A Weasley for sure.

Bill could feel a broad grin coming to his face at the sight of the boy. His boy.

With a practiced tug, Fleur bared her breast and placed the baby there to suckle. His cries died away as she helped him to latch on and he received the love and nourishment that told him his world was going to be safe. Bill reached around and stroked his son's soft, warm cheek. He was mesmerized, watching the boy's little mouth work.

"He is perfect, _non_?" Fleur said softly, also watching the baby suckle, her head nestled against Bill's shoulder.

Tears came to Bill's eyes and he couldn't answer for a moment. He was humbled by Fleur and the magic she brought into his life. He pictured her on the day of their wedding; radiantly beautiful, outshining the sun. She had filled him with happiness that day, despite the fact that he'd survived some of the lowest points of his life in the months before their wedding.

Then, if marrying his mangy self wasn't gift enough, Fleur had given Bill their first child. Victoire, born on the second anniversary of his brother's death. Fleur had taken a day that was full of sorrow and filled it with joy and life. Bill could still remember the wonder and love that had overcome him at the sight of his sweet daughter.

And Fleur had done it again, nearly two years later on a bright, cold February morning. Little Dominique had come into the world with a roar; screaming and kicking, intent on making sure that everybody knew she had arrived. And Bill had cried and laughed as he fell in love for the third time with a beautiful Veela, the world's only ginger one.

And now Bill had a Weasley. A little boy who Bill loved every bit as much as he loved the child's mother and sisters.

"Yes," Bill said at last, "you did well."

"I zink zis one is all due to you, _mon_ Bill," Fleur replied. "He is a Weasley, through and through. He even has zee Weasley appetite."

Bill laughed. "What should we call him?"

"Louis."

"Why 'Louis'?"

"Because I like it," Fleur replied with a smug smile.

"Can it be _Lew-is_, not _Lou-ie_?" Bill suggested.

Fleur wrinkled her nose, as she did when she was presented with anything she thought was offensively English.

"_D'accord,_" she said finally, surprising Bill.

He had not thought she would agree to the English pronunciation. Bill looked at his wife to find her smiling at him. In a few days, it would be Christmas, but Fleur had already given him his gift. The perfect gift: this healthy, strong, Weasley boy.

"Louis," Fleur said aloud, practicing the English pronunciation. "Louis William Weasley."


	10. Family: Arthur

Author's Note: Well, I got a good night's rest, went to my 4 year old's last Christmas program in pre-school, survived Christmas shopping with all three of my children in tow and finally finished Arthur's story. I apologize now if it's a little rough. Besides being self-edited, I wrote it pretty much today.

Now, for a writer's secret: I use my grandma as a model for a number of characters. She's a larger-than-life woman with a big voice, a lot of love and enough opinion to go around. There are bits of her in Molly, Andromeda and my OC, Roberta Wood. But there is only one man who is my Granddad: Arthur Weasley. Replace the collection of Muggle things with cows, and they could be the same man.

Disclaimer: The world and characters belong to JK Rowling.

* * *

Prompt: Family

Arthur

Arthur settled into his chair in the sitting room after Christmas dinner. It was a Muggle chair called a Laze-About-Lad, or some such. The children had bought it for him a few birthdays ago. It was brilliant. A chair and ottoman all in one. Just ingenious. Molly didn't quite agree. She said it took up too much space. She didn't appreciate seeing him snoozing in it either. She called him an old fart.

Molly had outdone herself this year. Two big turkeys, garnished with little sausages. It pleased Arthur to see the extra little touches like that, after so many years of doing without. It seemed backwards somehow, that now that it was just him and Molly at home, there was more than enough money. Molly didn't know what to do with herself, not having to strictly budget every meal, every shopping trip. Most of those galleons sat in the vault at Gringotts untouched.

As he prepared to set back in his chair, a small, black and tan face popped up. Minnie the miniature dachshund, Molly's one extravagance. Minerva McGonagall had been aghast to discover the dog's name. Arthur had been pleased that Molly had chosen a Muggle animal, though dogs were common enough in the Wizarding world. Still, he'd rather not share his chair with the little bugger. Though, maybe just this once. With all the grandchildren about, Minnie was prone to being trod upon.

With a sigh, Arthur budged over to make room. Minnie hopped up, turned her long body around three times, dug at the fabric a bit, then settled alongside Arthur with her long nose hanging off the edge of the chair. Well, now that that was settled, he tipped his chair back, ready for a turkey-induced nap.

oOo

"Shh, Granddad is sleeping."

That was the unmistakable voice (and volume) of one Freddie Weasley, aged five. Arthur concentrated on keeping his eyes closed and his posture loose. No need to alert his grandsons that he was awake. If he were not very much mistaken, at least two—maybe even three-of them were in the room at the moment.

Minnie stirred, then jumped down. A little body had budged up against the chair, disturbing the skittish dog.

"Look at this, Freddie," Jamie Potter announced at normal speaking tones. Normal for him being _loud_. "Granddad has more hair in his nose than on his head!"

Arthur nearly snorted. Jamie-loud, brash and confidant at all of four-was hailed as the second coming of the original James Potter by all who had known that poor man. Everything from little Jamie's quick wit to his messy hair was the picture of the elder Potter, so they said. Arthur never contradicted this assumption. He rather thought it gave comfort to the few left who remembered James to believe that his grandson walked in his meandering footsteps. Privately, however, Arthur knew that James Sirius Potter was his mother's son.

"Wow!" Fred said. "I bet Dad could make a rem-remed-potion to fix that right up."

Ah, young Freddie was undoubtedly correct. And Arthur was equally as sure that he would never touch such a potion. He'd been the unwitting test subject of Fred and George on more than one occasion, he was not willing to volunteer for the job. No, Arthur would just live with his nose hair. The ear hair, too.

"C'mon, Jamie," Fred said and the chair shook as he pushed away. "I don't think it's in here and we gotta find it before my dad realizes it's missing."

Well, now, that sounded like trouble, to be certain. Not that George, Ginny and Harry didn't have it coming. Arthur consoled his guilty conscience that Angelina knew what she was getting into when she married George and bore him children. Not that Angelina was an innocent, not by a long shot. Why, she and George had created quite the family scandal with little Freddie. Add to that, they were the cause of one of Arthur's more awkward parental moments.

It all began when George had announced that Angelina was pregnant again. While holding ten week old Roxanne in his arms. Molly, normally over the moon at the prospect of more babies, had stared at George with a twitching eye. The rest of the family just sat around the Sunday dinner table in stunned silence. Arthur could only sigh.

After the children had left that day, Molly had cornered Arthur in his Laze-About-Lad. "You need to talk to George."

"Whatever for?"

"He obviously does not know how to cast a proper contraceptive charm, Arthur. I mean, honestly, there is more than a year between Ron and Ginny, for Merlin's sake." She threw her arms into the air in exasperation. "For Merlin's sake, he's going to have Irish twins, Arthur. It's unseemly."

"I seem to recall a number of witches and wizards—including Auntie Muriel—saying that having seven children was unseemly."

Molly had pinned Arthur with a look that he'd once heard Ron refer to as the stink eye. The next day, Arthur had visited George.

"George," he began, as he sat in his son's kitchen over a cup of tea. The mug had a picture of Dumbledore on it, and the great wizard was mooning Arthur.

"Father," George replied, mimicking Arthur's serious tone.

"Your mother—" Arthur sighed—"and I are concerned that perhaps you need another talk…about the birds and the bees."

George laughed long, loud and hard. When Arthur, remained impassive, the laughter died away. George gaped at his father for a moment, ears red.

"You can't be serious," George said with such a look of disgust on his face.

"Honestly, George, you got your poor wife pregnant hardly days after she'd given birth."

"You are going to speak to me about family planning? _You._ A man who not only has seven children, but freely admits that half of them were accidents."

"Surprises," Arthur corrected, not quite meeting his son's eye. "You, Bill, Percy and Ginny were _surprises_. Happy surprises."

"Well, I am carrying on the family tradition, then."

"That's just it, son," Arthur started, turning Dumbledore's bum away from him. "I was always…respectful of your mother after she'd had a baby. A woman needs time to heal."

"Who says Angelina wasn't the one pouncing on me, Dad? Ever think of that?"

Arthur could feel the burn of a blush creep up his neck. What was he supposed to say to that? _'Sometimes a man must be strong and do the proper thing.'_ He didn't bloody well think so. Arthur couldn't think of a single time he'd ever turned Molly down when she'd, er, pounced on him.

"George," Arthur finally said, "I have one last thing to say and then we can forget this whole unfortunate conversation ever happened."

"Thank Merlin," George muttered.

"Breast feeding is not a reliable form of birth control."

"Well, obviously."

Arthur sighed just thinking about that conversation all these years later. He would have thought that he'd be done with awkward conversations once his children were grown, but that was obviously not the case. When Ginny had turned up pregnant with Albus before Jamie's first birthday, Arthur had gladly ceded that parental duty to his wife.

The room had gone quiet again, a sure sign that Freddie and Jamie were gone. Arthur cracked one eye open to catch a ginger head peaking at him over the arm of the chair. A small giggle filled the air. The most beautiful laugh of any of his grandchildren.

Arthur snapped his eye shut again, but he couldn't help but smile. He felt a small hand touch his. This time, Arthur opened his blue eyes and turned to look into eyes much like his own. He sat up, snapping the ottoman part of the chair shut. The boy scrambled into his granddad's lap, watching him alertly.

Arthur used his big, old hands to sign the words: _"Merry Christmas, L-O-U."_

Louis smiled and mimicked the hand movements: _"Merry Christmas, P-O-P."_

_Pop_ was Louis' special name for Arthur. The other children called him Granddad, but that was…well, a finger full for a recently turned five-year-old. So, when Fleur had begun teaching Louis sign language, Arthur had become 'Pop.'

Louis silently pulled a roll of parchment from his pants pocket. He wore Muggle pants with a number of pockets. The idea was that Louis would be able to carry things with him, but still keep his hands free to communicate. That had been Uncle Charlie's idea, but Fleur had bought twenty pairs of pants that fall when he'd first suggested it.

Taking the offered parchment, Arthur smoothed one hand over the boy's shaggy, ginger hair. Louis looked so much like Bill did at this age. The hair, the eyes, the handsome face; all of it Bill's. It was easy to think that Fleur had contributed nothing, but Arthur could see her in the way Louis scrunched up his nose or when he shrugged.

It had been Fleur who had first noticed that Louis was deaf when he was only a few months old. She'd thrown herself into learning sign language and teaching it to everybody else. It had reminded Arthur that this young woman had once been a Tri-Wizard Champion, and with reason. She was a brilliant and determined witch. And, of course, it went without saying, a devoted mother.

Arthur was so proud of his eldest son and daughter-in-law. He could see the urge to protect and coddle Louis written plainly on their faces, and Arthur understood it. The world was a scary place—even without evil wizards to darken it—sending any child out into it was an act of courage. Arthur should know, he'd gathered that courage seven times, and had paid for it.

But Bill and Fleur didn't let themselves cave into that fear. Understandably, Fleur gave the boy numerous lectures about being safe and alert—Bill called them the "constant vigilance" speeches. Then, when the talk was over, they sent Louis on his way. Giving him the freedom any bright and curious five-year-old boy would have to fly a toy broomstick or explore the beach near their home. And if Fleur checked up on him a little more often than she would his sisters? Well, there was no cowardice in that.

Ah, well, back to the matter in hand. The parchment that Louis had given Arthur to look at. Unrolling it carefully, Arthur saw a picture done in colored pencils of two people that looked rather like him and Molly, a red heart in the background.

"_Is this Dom's Christmas gift to you?" _Arthur asked.

Louis nodded.

The Burrow was covered in pictures drawn by the grandchildren, but Dominique had a true talent. One that she was eager to share with her little brother. When not causing mischief with her cousins, Mol and Roxy, Dom illustrated all the family stories that Louis couldn't hear.

Arthur unfurled the parchment further to see a drawing of Bill, complete with scars, kissing Fleur. Then, Charlie standing alone with his arms crossed and his legs spread. Next was Percy holding Audrey's hand—Arthur chuckled, Dom had perfectly captured Percy's stunned smile. But Arthur's heart caught at the next picture: George being chased by a wand wielding Angelina, and Fred hovering overhead with angel wings.

It was a moment before Arthur could move on. Fred was in every nook and cranny of the Burrow: from the photo albums to the mantle to the clock. Even in the shed out back where his old Cleansweep was still housed. Stories were told to the children of their lost Uncle Fred-some of the children's favorites, truth be told. But it wasn't until this moment that Arthur knew that the children understood Fred's importance in the family.

A gentle hand touched his cheek. Arthur looked at his little grandson, realizing that there were tears on his aged cheeks.

"_Don't be sad, Pop."_

Pulling out his handkerchief, Arthur blew his nose noisily. How did he explain to a five-year-old that these were not merely sad tears? There was sadness, of course, but so much more. He patted Louis hair before returning to the drawings.

The next panel showed Ron and Hermione facing each other, they were obviously bickering. Then came Ginny and Harry racing on broomsticks. The final panel was enormous. It showed Arthur and Molly surrounded by all of their children, daughters-in-law, Harry and the grandchildren. All of them: from Teddy tugging on Victoire's plaits to Hugo and Lily in their mother's arms. Even Fred was there, floating above them like a guardian angel. At the bottom was one word in ornate lettering, wreathed in vines and flowers: Family.

This was so special. Arthur wondered how many hours and orange pencils it must have taken Dom to accomplish something like this. And more importantly, he wondered at his granddaughter's heart. She was a tough girl, prone to getting dirty and playing pranks. No one made the mistake of thinking she was soft just because she was a girl or because she liked to draw. No one would guess at this size of her heart, which was enormous.

Louis tugged on Arthur's sleeve. When he looked at the boy, Louis had a wide smile on his face. He opened his little fist to reveal long, white bits of string. Arthur's brow furrowed as he examined the strings. There was something familiar about them, as if Arthur should know exactly what their function should be. What in the world…

Arthur chuckled. "Ah."

"_Are these the wicks to Uncle G's Whiz-Bangs?"_

Louis giggled, his hand curling around the wicks again. Now Arthur understood. Freddie and Jamie had been searching for something earlier when they'd been in the room; something they didn't want George to know was missing. Something that George _would_ miss and something that would get the boys into trouble. And that something was currently in the possession of one Louis Weasley.

Well, there was another prankster in the family, it would seem. Always room for one more.

"_Let's show Gran this drawing, shall we?"_

Arthur stood, setting Louis on the floor. Hand-in-hand, the two went in search of Molly.

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A/N2: Thank you to all who have followed, favorited or reviewed. I appreciate you all!

Merry Christmas!


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